


Sonata and Serenade

by AllegroCrescendo



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, I can't write tags for shit, Implied Sexual Content, It started as fluff but I couldn't resist the sin, Lots of Classical Music, Lots of feels near the end, Miraculous Ladybug - Freeform, Nudity, Powerless AU, Sexual Content, Some Dutch And French, Yes they are logically speaking french and dutch but I'm writing this in English, aged up AU, first fic, musician au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegroCrescendo/pseuds/AllegroCrescendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette is juggling a tough life. She recently left her comfort zone. Literally. She moved away from Paris to the capital of the Holland, Amsterdam, to intern under the wing of a world famous fashion designer. Fresh out of college and having 0 knowledge of Dutch, Marinette had no choice but to pick-up a job where she was near her entire life: a bakery. When a trio steps into the bakery and start speaking Dutch, Marinette is taken for a wild ride when she is given a ticket to a classical music concert. Unsure at first, Marinette soon finds herself in the front row of a music concert, hopelessly enchanted by a former teen prodigy's piano skill....and his good looks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canon in D

**Author's Note:**

> The title song is:  
> Pachelbel's Canon in D
> 
> https://youtu.be/hOA-2hl1Vbc
> 
> Give it a listen!

Marinette sighed for what seemed like the thousandth time that day as she began to organize the cupcakes in their proper display cases, brows furrowed and lips pulled into a small frown. Today was her official first day working storefront at the small bakery she was working in, and Marinette had truly overestimated the people of Amsterdam and their ability to speak French. 

The entire day consisted over Marinette trying to figure out what her customers were trying to order followed by severe agitation on the patron's part, and some words that Marinette presumed would make her mother faint. Apologizing profusely, poor Marinette would quickly pack their orders into the cutesy little paper snack-bags, ring them up, and hand them their pastry. It was embarrassing on her part-- the daughter of one of the most popular bakers in Paris and she couldn't sell a single delight in Amsterdam without having to have the customer repeat their order about twenty times. Some context clues helped Marinette piece together sentences, yet it ultimately just led to insistent pointing and jagged glares at the shy blue-haired girl. 

The rush hour seemed to be over for now. Marinette stood over her counter and wiped it down, looking a little solemn. Classical music drifted from the store speakers to ease her mood. Something by Pachelbel….Marinette scoffed. How could she remember the name of a classical work if she could hardly remember how to get to work every morning. She had first traveled to the Netherlands fresh out college. Her best friend, Alya, had mentioned to her that a high-profile fashion designer was looking for interns. Jumping at the chance to advance her career, Marinette bought a one-way ticket to Amsterdam as soon as she was given the internship. Her parents, initially weary, eventually leant their support to the young 25-year-old fashion designer. After it, it had been her dream for as long as she could remember. She looked at the croissants in the display case and felt a twinge of nostalgia. A deep wave of homesickness threatened to wash over her as she covered her mouth with her hand and fought away tears. It had been a rough couple of months without her parents. And despite the nightly phone calls and weekly Skype sessions, the distance between them seemed immeasurable. Truth be told, Marinette cried herself to sleep during her first night in her new home.

The light jingle of the doorbell caught her attention as she looked up to watch a small ensemble of men clad in all-black formal wear enter. Two carried large cases and looked considerably older than the youngest. The youngest had a binder shoved underneath his arm, his arms in his pockets. He looked around in apprehension and looked uncomfortable around the older two men. Despite his discomfort, he looked....well handsome. His golden hair was perfectly parted and sideswept, a perfect match with his vibrant green eyes. He was tall, at least taller than Marinette, and his nervous smile gave him a cute appeal.

Marinette was too busy ogling the younger boy to realize that the two older men were standing right in front of her, staring at her expectantly, faces scrunched with confusion and annoyance at the spaced-out worker. 

"Marinette!" cried her boss, Mrs. Van Baas. "Customers!" She chided Marinette. 

Marinette blinked and was painfully aware of the men standing in front of her, she giggled awkwardly and rubbed the back of her head, "Hi! Welcome! What can I get you?" She put on her best smile, hoping she wouldn't scare away the customers. 

One of the gentlemen with a case made a face and turned to look at his partner. He turned back to Marinette and shook his head, "Ik spreek geen Frans." He frowned at her. 

Marinette leaned towards the kitchen door, "Mrs. Van Baas!" She called, "I need help!" 

"Handle it!" came the sharp reply, "I'm busy with the pastries!" 

Marinette winced at the shouting and turned back to them, her signature awkward smile on her face. She motioned to the pastries and spoke slowly, "What... would...you...like...?" 

The younger of the trio step forward and smiled, "Two orders of poffertjes for the gentlemen and an order of oliebollen for me, please." He smiled brightly at her. Marinette's knees nearly gave out on her...the way his eyes sparkled in the lighting...his flawless smile. God it was too much. Then Marinette said something really smart.

"You speak French." 

His laugh rang out, making the hairs on Marinette's neck stand. She swallowed a lump of embarrassment and looked away. She wanted to crawl away into a hole and die of pure shame. Way to go, Marinette. Make yourself look like a total idiot. 

"Yeah. I was born in France. Paris to be exact." He did a small two-finger salute to her.

Marinette felt her face beam with excitement at the thought of another Parisian in the same city as her. Her arms flailed lightly, "I was born in Paris too! Well. Err...it should apparent. I'm speaking French. Because I am! Paris is my hometown too! Agh! This is so embarrassing. I'm running my mouth. I'll shut up now!" She clasped her hands over her mouth.

Meanwhile, the boy had eyes brimmed with unshed tears, one of his hand on his stomach as he laughed. "Mademoiselle, please!" He pleaded, his partners looking at him bewildered. He noticed these looks and composed himself again, his smile returning back to a small curve of the lips. His eyes, however, gave him away. They were still sparkling with laughter. "Our pastries, s'il vous-plaît." 

Marinette nodded shyly and smiled at him, a bit grateful that she had met a native French in Amsterdam. She began packing their pastries into separate bags, trying not to eavesdrop on their conversation. Not like she could anyways. They had returned to speaking Dutch, including the Parisian boy. He seemed to be inquiring something of the older gentlemen. One was obviously contemplating while the other was looking at him with a disapproving glare. After a brief minute of hushed conversations, one of the older men set their case on the counter and opened it. A trumpet. Marinette thought as she rang up the pastries. They must have been musicians, which made sense. The other case was similar, which meant it was probably another trumpet. Marinette furrowed her brows and glanced at the Parisian boy. He didn't carry a case. Maybe a son? No. He was too young. And he didn't look anything like the gentlemen. Maybe he was kidnapped by them and forced to carry their trumpet music around! Oh no! Marinette had to do something to save this poor unfortunate soul!

"Mademoiselle?"

Marinette blinked. Crap. She had spaced out again. "A-ah! Oui, Oui! I'm listening!" She flustered. 

The boy laughed and slipped her a ticket. "We're musicians for the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. Tonight's our concert entitled "Music Through The Ages." We'll be playing music from the Renaissance up to Post-War War I. Interested?" He inquired with a twinkle in his eye.

Marinette stared at him, a bit dumbfounded. This was something out of a cinderella story. A handsome prince asking a fair maiden out to the ball! Then afterwards, the two would kiss and fall in love and live happily every after. What a deal! She bit her lip and stared at the ticket before flashing her eyes to his expression momentarily. What was that? He looked....hopeful. Perhaps excited as well. Marinette couldn't say no to a face like that. It was practically saying no to a puppy. She sighed lightly and nodded, cautiously taking the ticket from him, "I would be honored to attend, Monsieur...." she faltered. Oh god! She had taken a ticket from him without even knowing his name.

"Adrien. Adrien Agreste." He offered her a small smile. 

"Marinette!" came Mrs. Van Baas's shout from the kitchen, making Marinette jump. "I hope you aren't keeping customers busy with chit-chat!" 

Marinette shook her head and turned towards the kitchen, "No, no, no! Not at all, Mrs. Van Baas!" She called back before she hurriedly handed the pastries to Adrien's orchestral friends. "Goodbye! Have a nice day!" Marinette chirped.

One of the gentlemen looked at her funny and spoke in Dutch. She furrowed her brows and looked at Adrien, wanting a sort of translation. Adrien looked amused, making Marinette go a deep shade of red.

"We haven't even paid you and yet you're already trying to make us leave? I know frequent clientele usually get discounts, but not free food." He translated, looking at her apologetically. "Milan can be a bit teasing. Don't mind him."

Milan apparently understood that Adrien had mentioned him, and perhaps not in the nicest way. He said something in a teasing tone that made Adrien go six shade darker. Adrien looked at Milan, obviously flustered, and said something back, completely awkward and shy. Marinette thought it was a cute shade for him. Yet something in her fluttered as she watched him with curiosity. "What did he say?" Marinette asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Adrien said, trying to keep himself composed, though he seemed to be struggling in doing so due to Milan's immature laughing. For such an old man, he had such a childish personality. 

The one who had remained silent the entire time stepped forward and smiled at Marinette. He had wrinkles at the corner of his eyes from smiling too much and wispy white hair. He pointed at the ticket and spoke in Dutch, before turning to Adrien expectantly. Apparently, Adrien had become a liaison of sorts.

"That's Luuk. He's our principal trumpet player. Not nearly as childish as Milan." Cue a kick from Milan. Adrien yelped and laughed as he rubbed his shin, "Anyways, he said that the ticket you have is front and center. Perfect view of the orchestra."

Marinette looked at the ticket and nodded softly, smiling, "It'll be a good change of scenery. I'm usually here...or at home. Or with Miss Bali." She snuck a glance at Adrien before bowing slightly to Milan and Luuk. "Thank you! I can't wait till the performance." 

Luuk tipped an imaginary hat towards Marinette before tightening a grip on his trumpet case and walking out the door, pastries in hand. Milan packed up his trumpet case and put his hand on Adrien’s shoulder, saying something to Adrien before smiling and bowing his head to Marinette and following right behind Luuk. That left Marinette alone in the room with Adrien. A small feeling of awkwardness hung in the air around them as Marinette shifted her weight from leg to leg, unable to meet the curious gaze of Adrien. She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at him, though her eyes remained on the folder under his arms. 

“I play piano.” Adrien spoke, breaking the tension that hung low in the room.

“Piano…” Marinette repeated. “Well I used to play piano too, you know! In grade school. Well. I took lessons. But I was okay at it. O-oh! Not that I’m saying I’m any better than you! B-because I wasn’t much good! I’m much too awkward for it! And my teacher told me my hands are too delicate and small for piano! That they aren’t good for stretching out to reach the keys! Oh and I couldn’t focus to save my life back then! I was such a mess honestly!” Marinette mentally face palmed as she felt a heat rush to her cheeks. Awkward ramble two, Marinette zero. She couldn’t help it! She got so unnecessarily flustered around Adrien and couldn’t fathom why. 

Adrien was smiling at her, once again amused. He took his pastries from the counter, putting a hand in the air, “Marinette, please. I understand.” He considered for a moment before he chuckled lightly and tapped the ticket lightly, nodding at Marinette, “Tonight, after the concert, find me. Perhaps we can talk a little bit more about Paris.” He smiled at her and pulled out an oliebollen and handed one to her. “Deal?”  
Marinette took the pastry, looking at him with wonder, “How do you know my name?” She asked, a little wonderstruck. Perhaps they had met in Paris before? Oh god no! That would be embarrassing! For her not to remember him! She stared at him with a hopelessly lost expression on her face. 

Adrien’s eyes flashed to the kitchen doorway behind Marinette, before looking back to her, and letting his lips curve in the slightest, “Something tells me your name gets shouted a lot.”

“Marinette!” Mrs. Van Baas “I told you no fraternizing with the customers-” she stopped abruptly and gasped when she saw Adrien. “Oh goede god!” exclaimed the plump baker as she clasped her cheeks. She spoke rapidly in her native tongue, the only thing Marinette being able to comprehend amongst the machine-fire pace of her speaking was ‘Adrien Agreste’. Adrien smiled and extended his hand, politely shaking Mrs. Van Baas hand and speaking to her in Dutch. God he was so suave….

“So I’ll see you tonight?” Adrien asked. Marinette had caught herself in the middle of drifting off and nodded quickly. 

“Yes! Yes! Tonight! I’ll be there!” Marinette giggled awkwardly and grasped the ends of her apron with one hand, making sure not to crush the oliebollen Adrien had given her in her other hand.. Thousands of thoughts raced through her head. From what she would wear to how she could act. Should she take flowers or would something else be more appropriate? She had only attended one performance as such, and that was her middle school’s terrible recital of ‘Vivaldi Meets Street Rap.’ 

Adrien smiled and Marinette was too late in catching what he had said. She needed to kick the habit of drifting off to her La-La-Land when talking to people. “Have a great day then, Marinette. I’ll be looking out for you.” He waved before turning and walking out the door.

“A-ah! Yes!” Marinette had managed to say before the door fell shut. She sighed dreamily and watched him until he turned the street corner. “Tonight…”

Mrs. Van Baas looked at her wristwatch and spoke to Marinette, thankfully, in French this time. “Marinette. That was Adrien Agreste .Former teenage piano prodigy. If you’re going to make a good impression, you better wear your best tonight. And if the time Adrien mentioned while you were too busy undressing him with your eyes is correct, tonight starts in 3 hours.”

Marinette’s face paled. Oh god! 3 hours wasn’t enough time. She turned to Mrs. Van Baas with huge pleading eyes. Her boss wiped her pudgy hands on a towel and smiled at Marinette. 

“Yes. Yes. I know. You need to start getting ready as soon as possible. Meaning now.” She began wiping the counter down with the same towel and looked at Marinette, who stood and stared at her boss with a twinkle in her baby blue eyes. “Well? What are you doing? Get out of here!” She motioned with her hands for Marinette to go. Marinette threw her arms around Mrs. Van Baas and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Tomorrow I’ll work overtime at no cost! And I’ll be on my top game!” She promised before throwing her customized apron onto her hook, grabbing her purse, and racing to her homey apartment in Stadsdeel West.


	2. Love's Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette attends the concert recital, and what she expects to be a boring night full of boring music turns out to be so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cranking these things out before I loose my muse to write them. I usually loose my will to write a story about two weeks after I've thought about it. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ Here is a playlist of roughly the repertoire that will performed throughout the piece. ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLpaoPdTPbiXODl3Hz6225SfJ_iOkxTq4l)

Marinette practically tore her closet apart as she frantically searched for the perfect outfit. What was she even supposed to wear to such a concert?! Jeans and a nice shirt didn't seem appropriate at all, and all those fancy ballgowns like in the movies seemed to be pushing it. Pacing around her bedroom she was nervously eyeing her cellphone. It sat in the middle of her done bed and played music from her favorite rock artist; Jagged Stone. It was strange. Marinette was used to going to Rock concerts with her high school friends. Now she was supposed to attend a classical music recital. When had adult life become so boring?

"Oh Tikki! What do I wear!" Marinette lamented to her Siamese cat, whose piercing blue eyes were following her pacing owner.

She eyed her phone again and chewed her lip. Her last resort drew near. No way could she make herself a dress in under an hour. Thinking of a fashionable idea would take at least 3. And she couldn't buy one. She wasn't going to get paid for another week. Asking to borrow money the question was definitely out the question as her parents taught her to never be in debt to someone.

"It's worth a shot." Marinette mumbled to herself as she grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She pulled up the private contact number of her boss, Ms. Martha Bali. 

Martha Bali was one of the most prominent fashion designers in Amsterdam and all of Holland. She usually designed more sleek unisex clothes with solid colors, but as of recent, she has tried to expand her hand into dresses and prints. That's where Marinette came into play. The Parisian's cutesy designs and playful colors had caught Ms. Martha's eye. Instantly, she had taken Marinette under her wing and worked closely with her to develop new designs. Currently, Marinette was working on a cocktail dress with 'a touch of Martha'. In reality, Ms. Martha was doing all the designing and letting Marinette change things up here and there. The sleeveless dress was simplistic, yet demanded attention. Completely black, the dress fell to the wearer's knees and had an open back. Marinette's small touches were a flared bottom and long sheer train. 

Marinette had fallen in love with the dress. It had become her pride and joy. Ms. Martha, however, felt it wasn't 'enough' to premiere on any of her runway shows. So perhaps she wouldn't mind if Marinette used the dress for concert tonight, would she? Testing her luck and pressing the dial button, she found herself holding the phone to her ear and continuing her frantic pacing. 

"Marinette, darling!" came Ms. Martha's motherly voice a few rings later (although if she had to, Marinette would describe Ms. Martha as the flamboy-aunt) "What a pleasant surprise! We weren't supposed to speak again until Tuesday! To what do I owe this pleasure?" 

"Ms. Martha-" Marinette began.

"Marinette. What have I told you about the whole titles?" She chided.

"Right..right! It makes you feel old and that we're past formalities." Marinette remembered. "Anyways! So I have something important tonight and-" 

"Important? Oh do tell! A date perhaps? Who's the lucky boy!" She interrogated.

"Ms. Mar- Martha! No! It's not like that! I'm just going to a classical music recital for the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra! That's all!" Marinette frantically replied. Her mind drifted off to Adrien and the way he smiled at her and God she wanted to melt right there. Was this considered a date? He had technically invited her. And he wanted to meet up afterwards. Marinette felt her heart leap into her throat as she touched her flushed cheeks with a shaky hand.

Ms. Martha laughed and Marinette could already see the cheeky expression on her face, "Marinette, please! You fell asleep in my office when I played Vivaldi! What makes you think you can fool me?"

Marinette flailed her arms, her cheeks flushed deeper, "Honestly! I-I was invited a-and it's just to clear my m-mind an-and-" 

"Oh Marinette. I'm just teasing." the older woman's voice obviously held back laughter. "Now what do you need?"

Marinette was so busy flustering over Adrien and their rendez-vous that she completely forgot why she was calling, "Ah! _Oui! Oui!_ Well. As you know, you have scrapped the dress we created, the black one with the sheer train and-"

"Oh don't remind me!" Ms. Martha lamented. "That pity of a dress! So horrible. It's wonderful. But it's just not...me!" She emphasized 'me'. 

"Yes. Yes. Of course. Well. If you wouldn't mind- and I mean, why would you? Well maybe because you created it and all but I digress! You wouldn't mind it if I borrowed the dress for tonight, would you?"

"Oh Marinette! By all means! Take it! Take it out of my sights and far away!" She exaggerated, and Marinette imagined Ms. Martha throwing herself onto her office chair while slinging an arm dramatically across her forehead. 

Marinette's eyes lit up and she felt her heart soar. "Oh Martha! Thank you so much!" Marinette practically sang. 

Ms. Martha huffed, "Well what kind of boss would I be if I didn't help out my favorite intern? I'll send someone over with the dress. Have fun tonight. And you better introduce me to this boy later on!" She teased. 

Before Marinette protested, Ms. Martha hung up and left Marinette alone with her thoughts, although she didn't want to be left alone with them. Because one thing only invaded her thoughts.

_Adrien._

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Ms. Martha herself arrived with the dress at a pleasant time as a nice surprise. That woman's eccentric kindness met no ends. She had bought her entire makeup kit and Marinette nearly fainted when Ms. Martha tried calling in a professional makeup artist to help Marinette with her makeup. Marinette was halfway through styling her hair, opting to leave it down and putting a nice hair accessory, when Ms. Martha arrived. Now, the two sat in Marinette's bathroom, Ms. Martha pacing around Marinette and inspected her like a Van Gogh or a Monet. It made Marinette squirm uncomfortably, and she played with the hem of her shirt to distract her from the feeling. 

"Flashy makeup will ruin the doll-like face you have. Perhaps we should do something more subtle." Ms. Martha spoke, although more to herself than Marinette. She took Marinette's face in her hands and tilted it in all directions, "Thank your mother next time you speak with her. She's blessed you with wonderfully clear skin." 

"I'll do that." Marinette giggled awkwardly. 

Ms. Martha unpacked her arsenal of makeup supplies and crossed her arms, "Well, seeing as there's not much I have to do with your skin, let's focus on other things, such as your eyes. They're a beautiful color of blue. And I want to make them stand out. Shall we?" Without waiting for a response, Ms. Martha set off to work on the young Parisian's makeup. 

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

An hour and a half later, after much fuss about her makeup, Ms. Martha helped Marinette slip into their dress and put on her shoes. Her outfit was simplistic, composed of the dress, her shoes, and a nice necklace, yet it called for attention. Ms. Martha had done her makeup just as she said. The soft black color of the eyeshadow added in with the silver accents and the non-dramatic eyeliner worked together to bring out the sparkle in her deep blue eyes. Throw in a dash of blush and a soft red lip color, and Marinette was a _total_ knock-out. 

"Oh darling! You look amazing!" Ms. Martha practically sobbed as she hurriedly ushered Marinette into her car. "Now. Now. Hurry. The concert is in an hour but arriving early to discover all about it is customary." 

Marinette laughed lightly and looked over at her boss, who had slipped into the driver seat and sped off to the Concertgebouw hall. Marinette looked outside the window and watched all the buildings and the Stadsdeel West district roll by from inside her car. She was used to being in foot or on her bike, since Amsterdam was very pedestrian accessible, but Ms. Martha made a fair point when she pointed out that Marinette couldn't ride a bike in a designer dress nor could she make the 50 minute walk. She simply had to go by car. How convenient that her ride happened to be Ms. Martha. Marinette got the suspicious feeling that Ms. Martha purposefully took long on her makeup to spy on her "date". 

It wasn't long before they arrived at the concert hall, and Marinette felt instantly relieved. She looked dressed for the occasion. No one was wearing Victorian-Era ball gowns, thankfully, yet no one seemed to be in jeans and a ragged t-shirt. Marinette turned to Ms. Martha and was shocked to see that the overzealous woman had tears in her hazel eyes.

"Oh my baby is growing up!" She sobbed and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her tears.

Marinette smiled and laughed, "Oh Martha! It's only a concert." She leaned over to hug her, careful not to get any of her tears on her dress. "Thank you, again. For everything."

Ms. Martha hugged her back gently and smiled, "Of course, my dear. Anything for you." Ms. Martha pulled away from the hug to make some quick adjustments to Marinette before handing the young girl her purse. "Now go. Don't keep your Prince charming- I mean, concert waiting." the fashion designer snickered.

Marinette blushed lightly and rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "For the last time," she spoke as she got out the car, "I told you it's not a date-"

"Marinette?" 

"Gah!" came Marinette's intelligent response as she spun around to find none other than Adrien Agreste, clad in all black once more as he stood behind her. "A-Adrien!" She squeaked.

Ms. Martha quickly got out the car, much to Marinette's mortification, "Hold on just a minute. You mean to tell me your date is Adrien Agreste? The Adrien Agreste? Son of Ga-"

"Ah! _Mademoiselle_ Bali!" Adrien interrupted, extremely out of his usual polite character and quite pale. "You drove Marinette here? Thank you! I truly appreciate it but we must be going. The concert should start any minute!" He smiled brightly at her and took Marinette's wrist and lead her to the large concert hall. Ms. Martha was left behind in the dust, completely confused.

Marinette looked confused, "You know Ms. Martha?" 

"Ah. Not personally. She must have known my father." Adrien responded. He slowed down to walk by her side.

"Who's your father?" Marinette inquired and she tilted her head with curiosity as she looked up at him.

Adrien pulled his lips into a tight line, "No one important." 

Marinette noticed his unease and decided to drop the subject. She glanced down to his hand that gripped her wrist tightly. It made her skin heat up despite the fact that his hand was cool to the touch. Her heart throbbed in her chest as she focused on keeping the spreading blush on her face to a minimum. 

"You look lovely tonight." Adrien complimented her.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

There goes all her self-control. 

"W-wha?! Me?! Lovely! Oh no I don't not at all. I mean. If you think so! Then yes I am! But no! I'm not saying I'm lovely. I'm just saying you're entitled to your opinion!" She flailed her arms, completely exasperated and her face being taken over by a horrible blush, "You on the other hand! You look great! I mean. You were wearing this earlier when you walked into the bakery but I mean! You look good in it still. Handsome, I mean. Well no, not handsome if that makes you feel awkward, but good! N-not that I'm saying you don't look handsome because you are, it's just-" 

Adrien laughed again and, god she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Whatever god was up there, they had full permission to strike her down right here and now. "Marinette. Please calm down!" he pleaded. He wiped tears away that bad formed and smiled at her, "I know what you mean. It's alright." 

She met his eyes and was immediately entranced by them. Their vibrant green color was intoxicating and made her want to unravel right then and there. He squeezed her wrist gently before he let go and smiled, "You're very funny, Marinette. It's charming."

He had just called her charming. _He_ had just called _her_ charming. It made Marinette's head spin. Someone so perfect found her the slightest bit charming. "T-thank you." She squeaked.

"Anyways. I have to go warm-up in a bit. The concert should start in an hour. Feel free to explore." He placed a hand on her shoulder encouragingly and handed her a program with a small piece of paper attached to it. "There's some background information about this concert, all the pieces, and about the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra in here. That," he pointed to the paper, "is my phone number in case you need to reach me at all." He turned to face her once more and smiled. "I hope you enjoy our concert. See you later, alright? Meet me outside the concert hall doors once it's over, alright?" It was more of an order than a request but Marinette nodded quickly and before she knew it, Adrien was on his way to warm-up. She watched him go and pressed a hand to her chest, as she secretly hoped to calm her racing heart.

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Marinette took her seat at the front row of the stage and nervously read the pamphlet over and over to the best of her ability. The concert seemed simple enough. It would have 5 periods, spanning from the Dark Ages to the 20th century. Each period contained a medley of songs from the most prominent composers of the time. Marinette could recognize the names such as Beethoven or Mozart, but people like Tchaikovsky and Byrd drew a huge question mark from her. What excited her, however, was the classical and Romanticism ages, where Adrien would have several piano solos. Granted, 2 minutes would be cut from their regular time, a solo was a solo. Marinette was especially excited at the end, when it would be a grand reprisal of the entire 3 hour show.

The hall itself was beautifully built. Marinette had the best view for optimal experience, yet she couldn't help but envy the people who sat directly behind the main stage, since they were so close to the orchestra. Then again, she was grateful to the ticket Adrien had given her, if not, she could have been stuck with a balcony seat and a terrible view. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and glanced up at the regal chandelier that was suspended above the seats, and she couldn't help but admire the way it added just the perfect glow to the hall. Talk about mood lighting.

Marinette looked down back down at the pamphlet that she had been fiddled with nervously, and opened the flap once more to the section that showcased the soloists. At the very bottom, was the one she kept trying to read. A picture of Adrien against a white surface was the first thing that indicated a new passage about a different soloist. His smile‒ which was way too perfect for his own good‒ was the same one he wore when he first walked into the bakery that afternoon; it was uneasy and forced. She pursed her lip softly and shook the wild imagination of hers away. A Parisian boy randomly with two Dutch gentlemen who looked nothing like him, looking uneasy and worried. What could possibly be more suspicious? Marinette mentally chided herself and tried to focus on the passage, which was pointless, really. It was all written in Dutch and the only words Marinette could pick out were his name, the number 25 (which she guessed was his age), the word piano, and something that looked vaguely familiar to ‘Paris, France’. If she had to guess, the passage was talking about his background. Adrien Agreste was a 25-year-old pianist from Paris, France. The rest to her, however, was completely undecipherable.

The lights dimmed and the audience clapped politely. Marinette looked around before she herself started to clap. After all, it was in her best interest not to look like a fool. She had done that much too often today, especially in front of Adrien. She continued her clapping as the musicians began to file onto the stage and take their seats in the semi-circle around the conductor's podium. In the backdrop, a grandiose organ sat and basically cried for someone to play it. The choir singers stood in front of the gaudy instrument on risers, and brass instruments flanked off to their left and right. Just beneath the brass were woodwinds, and in front of them, were string instruments. Huge instruments were on either side of the conductor, covered with a black tarp. Marinette wondered for a moment what could possibly be underneath them. 

Marinette scanned the endless see of musicians sporting all black. She furrowed her brows lightly when she failed spot Adrien. She felt disappointed. He had invited her and yet he wouldn't get to see him on stage? And with the best seat too. The young blue-haired girl settled on her seat, unable to fight a pout. How childish of her. It wasn't too long ago that it began to dawn upon Marinette that perhaps she had come to the show just to see Adrien. After all, he did intrigue her. She had so many questions to ask, especially after his little episode with Ms. Martha.

Marinette was pulled out of her thoughts when a new figure appeared on stage. The conductor acknowledged him with outstretched hands and the string players tapped their bows on their stands in approval. The figure walked to the very center of the stage and bowed politely, a hand pressed to his stomach. A spotlight was placed on him Marinette felt the butterflies in her stomach dance. There stood none other than Adrien Agreste, looking as perfect as ever. 

Marinette watched him stand up straight, his hands neatly behind his back. He regarded the crowd with a level of professionalism. It was a bit unnerving to think that Adrien was possibly the same age as herself, which made her all the little more curious. If they were the same age, why hadn’t Adrien attended high school with her? Granted, Paris was a big city and her high school was of a considerable size, that didn’t excuse the fact that she should have at least saw him once or twice. A face such as his would be unforgettable to anyone, even herself. Little, forgetful and clumsy, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

The spotlight followed Adrien up to the organ as he took his seat in front of him, the large organ making him looking miniscule in comparison. Marinette’s face fell in disappointment at the fact that he would be so far away and out of her line of sight. The choir singers completely blocked him from Marinette’s line of sight. What a bummer. Marinette would have hoped that at least the sight of Adrien would have kept her enthralled enough to keep her awake. She was afraid of falling asleep at the performance, embarrassing Adrien and having him forsake her forever.

She folded her hands and crossed her legs. She sat up and tried to look as formal as she could. The conductor raised his baton and looked at the choir. If Marinette remembered correctly, the Dark Ages era was first. So that meant nothing but Gregorian Chants and vocal music for a while . She sighed kept her eyes trained on the conductor. She tried to focus on music instead of how bored she really was. Not that she couldn't appreciate music. It was the complete opposite, actually. She loved music. But this type of music just wasn't her style. A couple of minutes into the song, she began to appreciate it more and more. The way the voices behaved with each other and formed chords. It was like fashion designing. Figuring out what patterns to use with what patterns. 

Marinette watched eagerly when the medley of the songs came to an end and automatically went into more cheerful music. If Marinette had to guess, the time period shifted, and they were no longer in the Dark Ages but rather in the Renaissance. It was still dominated by the choir, but here and there, Marinette would hear bits and pieces of an organ. Just the thought of Adrien performing make her heart flutter and got her all giddy in her seat. She enjoyed the light tunes from the choir, the brighter toned a stark contrast the choir’s early chants. 

Marinette has heard of people say that time flies when you're enjoying yourself, and that's what Marinette was currently experiencing. The medley, which was supposed to be longer than the Dark Ages medley, came and went, and Marinette found herself enthusiastically clapping, eager for more music.

The next period, Baroque or something of the sort, started off right away with the organ. It was that cheesy music you would hear at cheesy haunted houses with terrible animatronics and those terrible Dracula cardboard cutouts. Marinette tried to keep her laughing to herself, since she knew one of those pretentious music connoisseurs would lecture her on the importance and sanctity of good, classical music in today’s modern world. She watched with curiosity when that movement in the arrangement came to an end and the instrumentation held a trilled note. The crowd clapped politely and Marinette could see why. Adrien had left the organ and went uncover the tarped instrument to the conductor’s right. She heard excited murmuring and caught the word ‘harpsichord’ several times. She guessed that was the instrument name as Adrien played a lively chord, and the orchestra was thrown into a completely different piece. Marinette watched, leaning forward and with stars in her eyes, as the orchestra played a multitude of songs, the violinist bowing through each low note and leaning back against every high note. Every single musician looked completely invested into another world and they pulled Marinette along with them. She couldn't help but watch Adrien from time to time, and even though her played simplistic music, his movements were simple and graceful, and for the first time, there was a placid smile on his face. Marinette felt her heart do somersaults.

The Baroque age came and went. Four violin solos played, and wonderful music was made by the musicians, filling the hall with a glow that not even the chandelier above could provide. 

The mood and tone of the orchestra shifted again, as they began to play a familiar piece to Marinette. Finally. The Classical age. These should be all the pieces by Beethoven and Mozart and the lot; pieces she could recognize. Adrien once again stood and took a bow while the orchestra played a sustained note. He walked to the conductor’s left and uncovered the second tarped instrument, which was unmistakably a piano. She now had a much better view of Adrien, as he flipped a few pages of his music binder and began to play with the orchestra. At this point, the choir rejoined and the entire music hit an acme, going through dozens of classical composers in the swirling medley, each song selection perfectly complementing the last. No song was too out of place nor abrupt. 

Adrien had much more involvement in this era than the previous two combined. He had a small solo to himself, with the orchestra as a small accompaniment in the background. It was a change in pace and feel, the music’s tone lighter and more heartfelt. She tapped her foot along with the music and drummed her fingers against her armrests, a bright smile on her face as she enjoyed herself. She hummed the tunes to herself, much to the annoyance of the people sitting around, when she could recognize them: Ode to Joy, Lacrimosa, Fur Elise. The list when on and on. A small segment included an Opera solo featuring a female choir singer and Adrien on piano.

She glanced at Adrien and nearly jumped out of her skin. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her, especially with the distance and elevation of the stage to her seat. Yet it almost seemed that as Adrien played his music, he was staring directly at Marinette. The young Parisian tried to sort out all the reasons why that would be impossible. Why there was no way possible that Adrien was looking straight at her with an intensity that made her want to shrink away, yet drew her to him. It scared Marinette, these mixed feelings. How she couldn't decide what her feelings for Adrien were. They were positive. She knew that much. And yet she knew it wasn't love. She barely met him today and he was still shrouded in mystery to her. Marinette didn't believe in love at first sight. Not one bit. Her father had raised her to be smarter than that. 

The Classical era ended with a bang. Quite literally. The band played with such an intensity that when it took a small break to transition into Romanticism, the concert hall exploded with applause. The conductor turned and took a graceful bow. The adrenaline was being good to him, Marinette could tell. He looked absolutely proud to be conducting the band that was before him. 

The conductor turned back to his orchestra and lowered his baton. The musicians all followed, save for Adrien, who took a deep breath and let his hands touch the keys of his piano gently, however, he did not press any of them. Marinette could see his lips move the slightest bit, before his fingers struck the keys and he began to play the first song of the medley. It sounded a bit harsh towards the beginning before it continued to soften. Marinette’s gaze was completely transfixed in Adrien’s expression. His body was moving with the music, brows furrowing and and rising with the low and high notes. Marinette wasn't so sure that Adrien was playing the music as much as the music was playing him. He suddenly struck a chord and trilled notes. Adrien built tension in anticipation before the orchestra themselves began to play a new song. Marinette watched with glee. She knew this song. It was from Camilie Saint-Saëns. Het father would play it all the time in the bakery when they would bake. The song audibly shifted to a new one, with Adrien still soloing. His body swayed with the music, his fingers dancing across the ivory keys with such an intensity that it surprised Marinette how soft and beautiful the music was sounding. Perhaps it was because she was so perplexed with the young pianist that she had forgotten that the song was truly supposed to be soft and gentle.

Adrien now had his eyes closed, yet judging by the expression on his face, every time he played the piano, his eyes were wide open. Not literally, no. They were fluttered shut. But his eye to the world. Adrien had left the concert hall and was experiencing a whole new world. Marinette ached to understand and began to feel a tad-bit jealous. She wished she wouldn’t have quite music lessons so early on. Maybe then she could have felt what Adrien was feeling. The departure of the soul from the body and into the melody of the music, dancing along with every note and rising and falling with every crescendo. Adrien made the piano come alive. It had it’s own steady heartbeat whose pulse reverberated throughout the room. The rise and falls, every pause, every different rhythm was a new section in its life. 

Marinette’s eyes were firmly trained on Adrien, an intimate moment for herself. All else around her faded, and she was left alone in the hall with Adrien. She imagined herself alongside Adrien, watching closely as his fingers jumped around the piano keys in a symphony. Marinette felt as if she knew Adrien his entire life just from his piano playing, and perhaps what emotions he conveyed through the piano were true. Perhaps it was not just the feel of the song, but the pianist himself who set the mood. Everyone in the orchestra looked solemn, and even people in the theater looked moved. Marinette wondered if they understood the message from Adrien’s playing as she did. She hoped that they didn’t, because then that meant her worst fear would come true. Not that someone else would experience the connection that she did with Adrien’s piano playing, because that was unavoidable. Rather, she was afraid of the emotions she had interpreted being true. With a small listening of his playing, she had glimpsed into his life and felt his heart break.

He was afraid.

He had no one.

His soul ached for someone.

He needed someone

He was alone.

_He needed her._

Find her.

_Please come back._

_You mean the world to me._

The person who sat to the right of her leaned in and asked a soft question. She turned to him, not only confused because of the language barrier, but because his voice held concern. The man was dressed in an expensive looking suit, and his partner sitting next to him in an even more expensive looking evening gown. She stared at them for a while, in confusion, before she reached up to touch her own cheeks. She was shocked to find out that she was crying. She offered him a soft smile and nodded in affirmation before she turned back to the concert and quietly hoped she hadn’t made anyone feel uncomfortable. Discreetly, she pulled out her phone to check her reflection. Thank goodness, her eyes weren’t puffy nor was her makeup running. The only way one would notice that she had been crying would be if they actually had seen the tears themselves.

She turned back to Adrien, trying to shake the feeling of sorrow she had felt from him. Despite enjoying the music, she still acknowledged the nagging thought in the back of her mind.

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Marinette waited at the front of the concert hall, just like Adrien had asked her to do. She held on to the strap of her bag and stood as tall she could, in case anyone tried picking any fights with her. She drifted away to her La-La Land and thought about how the 20th century brought more light-hearted music. She especially enjoyed the little waltz that they had played, instantly recognizing it from when her father would play classical music as they baked. He would waltz around the bakery kitchen with her mother as Marinette mimed playing the violin. It gave her a source of comfort when she had felt the homesickness she did. Her mind eventually drifted off to how she felt as Adrien played the specific piano solo during the Romanticism era. She frowned and looked at the ground, wondering what memories he had to surface to play such a hauntingly beautiful piece.

“So how’d you like the concert?” Adrien’s soft voice came from behind her as she leaped in fright. He smiled at her reaction and watched with total amusement as Marinette tried to still her racing heart.

“You need to stop sneaking up on me like that?! Your stealth is like a cats. I never know where you’re going to appear next!” complained Marinette. 

Adrien bowed his head to her, “Forgive me. Although if I may say, it’s pretty funny watching you get all worked up like that.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “You never answered my question, though. How’d you like the concert?” Adrien seemed genuinely curious.

Marinette inspected him closely. When he stood around her, he didn’t appear to be as uneasy around her as he was around Milan or Luuk. In fact, it was the complete opposite. He stood next to her as if he had known her for his entire life and a comfortable as one would stand next to a childhood friend. “She nodded at him and smiled, “I enjoyed it a lot. Especially the Romanticism age.” 

Adrien groaned lightly and shook his head “Don't even remind me. Romanticism composers and their piano solos. Liszt especially. He wants to kill me.”

Marinette laughed and smiled up at him. Her knees shook terribly but at least she could look at him without freezing up. His piano playing opened up a new door of friendship that Marinette decided she wanted to step through, “Oh specifically for you. They were writing the compositions in the past and thought, ‘Hey. Wanna know what will piss off Adrien Agreste in the future?’”

Adrien snorted loudly and covered his mouth. Marinette’s heart soared. She had gotten him to laugh like that! “That's exactly what happened. Great to know someone doesn't think I'm lying.” Adrien joked. He looked past Marinette and his smile faded and straightened his posture. Adrien looked uneasy once more. Marinette turned to see a plump, older looking man marching right over to them. He held an feeling of haughtiness to him and stuck his nose high in the air. Marinette made a face. These types of people were never pleasant to be around. 

“Adrien Agreste!” the man huffed and Marinette groaned internally. He had to be French. “What complete and savage disappreciation of music! How dare you intermingle music as such! All music is sacred and should be played at their own and proper time! And that piano playing! Chopin and Liszt should never be played so...so disgustingly!” he scrunched his face in disapproval.

Adrien frowned lightly and was about to speak before Marinette balled her fists and turned to him, “Excuse me, _Monsieur_! But I beg to differ! I believe Adrien played the pieces beautifully and if you can't appreciate the splendidness of his playing, nor the genius work that was put into making this concert work, then you sure, are a fool!” Marinette spoke sharply. 

The man looked completely flabbergasted. He looked between Adrien and Marinette, “W-well I-I’ve never much such a...a horrible mannered little girl such as yourself!” He sputtered to Marinette.

Marinette scoffed and put her hands on her hips, “I’d watch who you call horrible mannered!” she retorted and looked up at Adrien. “Come on, Adrien. We have better things to attend to.” She took his hand and pulled him away from the dumbfounded man. She walked with her head high and tried not to giggle about how he stumbled behind her.

Once they were out of earshot, she stopped and looked up at him, “Who was that?” Marinette asked.

Adrien’s eyes were full of admiration and surprise, “Monsieur LeMarc. He thinks he's the best music connoisseur because he studied in Berlin. He makes it a habit of coming to any of the shows I perform at to critique me.” He smiled at Marinette and squeezed her hands, which Marinette remembered he was holding. “Marinette. That was amazing! The way you stood up to him.”

Marinette blushed and looked away, giggling “I-It was nothing! Afterall, I thought your piano playing was amazing.” She looked down at her heels, unable to meet the burning gaze of the pianist in front of him. 

Marinette felt a pair of fingers on her chin, and before she knew it, Adrien tilted Marinette’s head up so she would look at him. “Well. No thank you would possibly show my gratitude. But I do know a nice little crêpe place. Let me buy you one. Afterall, we Parisians need to stick together.”

Marinette studied Adrien for a minute. His unease had virtually disappeared from his demeanor. He stood a little less formal and his smile was a bit more carefree. His hand burned an imprint into hers, sending small sparks up her arms and straight to her heart. Her knees shook lightly as she nodded at him, “Alright then. Lead the way Mr. Agreste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments, kudos, and critiques are welcomed!
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> [ The title piece 'Love Dream' by Franz Liszt. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpOtuoHL45Y)


	3. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette is invited for a French-themed date to Adrien's apartment, but after finding out one of his secrets, will Adrien stay the same for her?
> 
> [The title piece for this chapter is 'Clair De Lune' by Claude Debussy! ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvFH_6DNRCY)
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>  
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> This chapter is nice and long to make up for my unexpected hiatus!

Over the course of the next couple of months, Marinette and Adrien grew closer to each other, much to Marinette’s delight. Constant texts, small outings to cutesy cafes and walks around the parks were amongst the things they did together. When overwhelming feelings of homesickness threatened to take over, Adrien thought up of their “French Days” where the duo would meet up either at a park of café for an entire day full of nothing of French delicacies, music and memories. These were intimate moments that Marinette didn't dare share with anyone, not even Alya. In fact, the young photojournalist didn't have a clue as to who Adrien was. Marinette decided to keep it under wraps due to the fact that she knew her best friend’s tendencies to squeeze the life out of a ‘hot topic’ down to every last detail. Besides, she didn't want half her friends to think she was dating a world-class pianist.

Not that she would mind dating him.

 _Marinette!_ she chided herself, _You hardly know him!_

And the fact of the matter was that it was true. Marinette had practically told Adrien her life story as their friendship developed. Marinette told him of her countless stories of life living in a bakery, dealing with the horrid Chloe Bourgeois and all her misadventures with Alya. Adrien knew that her favorite color was red and, despite her clumsiness, Marinette was actually very lucky in most cases. In the matter of half a year, Adrien knew most of what all her childhood friends did in her lifetime with them. Marinette couldn't help it. After passing an awkward stage with Adrien that included her being a total idiot around him, they had grown to appreciate each other in numerous ways.

Adrien admired Marinette’s courage and heart of gold. At least, that's what he told her. He wished that he had a friend like her growing up to protect him from his unfortunate circumstances. He also mentioned that Marinette reminded him of someone close to him. This woman was very important to Adrien. Marinette felt a strange ache in her heart when Adrien mentioned this.

Adrien hadn't mentioned the woman’s name or much at all about her. In fact, Adrien tried keeping everything about his past life under wraps. At first, this bugged Marinette. She was eager to find out everything she could about Adrien because his thrilling piano performance left her wanting to delve his deepest emotions and uncover the memories behind his playing. However, when she would ask any questions about his personal and past life, he would simply dance around the question, much to the dark-haired girl’s dismay. After a period of annoyance and a long conversation with Mrs. Van Baas, Marinette decided to pry no further. Everything would come to light with its own time. Patience, in this case, would be Marinette’s biggest virtue.

It’s not like he was a complete mystery to Marinette. He did occasionally did let Marinette glimpse into his private life. She knew that his father was a very important businessman worldwide, and Adrien himself was well-known because so. He was an only child and because of his over-protective father, he had to be homeschooled. He absolutely adored Jagged Stone and had some interest in fashion, eagerly asking to see Marinette’s designs and even adding his own personal details to some of them. Marinette’s heart swelled with joy at the thought of she and Adrien creating something together one day.

Now, the weather had turned cold and the leaves on the trees had begun to darken to different shades of red and brown. Impending clouds stretched over the horizon and threatened rain. The fall season of late September had finally arrived to Amsterdam. Currently, Marinette and Adrien sat together in the booth of a small café during lunchtime; Adrien rested his chin on his palm and listened to Marinette, who excitedly explained her latest design to her fellow Parisian. Half eaten croissants and iced tea sat upon their tables, pushed to the side and forgotten about to make room for Marinette’s precious sketchbook. Marinette pointed at the lining and patterns of her dresses and traced small circles on the paper with her finger when she wanted to emphasize a feature.

“So you see, the blue color here will stand out because of the subtle orange touches,” Marinette explained to him.

Adrien leaned forward and nodded, “But if you add green here, it’ll be a nice complementary color to the blue.” He suggested. His phone, which sat with their forgotten food, began to vibrate. Marinette glanced over and furrowed her brows. The video caller ID wasn’t anyone from the orchestra, a majority of whom Marinette had met. In fact, judging by the number itself, the call was from outside of Holland, the area code she instantly recognized as one from Paris. She glanced up at Adrien, who appeared to be debating on whether or not to answer the call. His eyes held a look that said he wanted to, yet he glanced at Marinette uncertainly. Marinette nodded at him, a sign of her silent consent that she didn’t mind Adrien answering the call.

He smiled gratefully at her and motioned for her to move and sit next to him in the booth. She did so, absolutely shyly, and slid in next to him. Adrien answered the call and instantly, a man about their age appeared, sitting at a table with a kitchen in the background. He wore a red cap backwards on his head and a pair of thick-framed glasses. His smile was mischievous yet his warm, amber eyes held a twinkle of friendliness. Marinette stared at the camera in utter disbelief. 

_No way…that possibly couldn’t have been…_

“Yo, Adrien! My man! What’s good in the big N.E.D?! Paris has been quiet without its best model around!” Adrien’s friend chirped.

Adrien glanced at Marinette nervously before he looked back at his phone with a smile. “Long time no speak, Nino! It’s been pretty slow here in Holland. I’m here at a café with my friend, Marinette.” He tilted the phone towards the still dumbfounded Marinette. “Say Hi, Marinette!” Adrien sang.

Nino’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he leaned forward and slammed his hands on the table, “No way! Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Little Miss Class President and ultimate rival of Chloe Bourgeois?! It’s been so long! How did you meet my bro, Adrien?!” Nino asked a million questions at once.

Marinette smiled at the sight of another Parisian. Just before she could speak, the camera was violently ripped away from his face and to a new one. _Oh god._ Marinette’s stomach fell to her knees as she stared at Adrien’s phone in complete horror. Right before her eyes, behind a screen that connected the two of them, thousands of miles away, was none other than her best friend.

Alya Césaire.

Oh god.

Someone should start writing her eulogy now: “Marinette was a kindred soul whose life was torn away too soon at the hands of her best friend for not telling her she had been hanging out with a devilishly handsome piano prodigy.”

“Oh! _Oh!_ I see you, little Miss Dupain-Cheng! Sneaking around behind my back like that! Thinking you can get away without telling me you were dating some sort of walking perfume ad!” Alya pointed an accusatory finger at Adrien, “And you think that I’ll just…just keep believing your stupid little lie! That you can keep the truth from me forever!” She shrieked as Adrien hurriedly lowered the volume on his phone in the interest of avoiding a scene at the café they frequented.

“Alya, please!” Marinette spoke in a hushed, yet urgent voice, “It’s not at all what you think! I  
was going to tell you! Believe me! I was!” 

“And when exactly were you planning to tell me?” Alya asked sharply.

Marinette winced and shrunk away, “Maybe...later...Sepvembrer 32nd….” the smallness of her voice surprised herself.

Alya huffed indignantly, “Well. I’d never think you were dating a famous mo-” suddenly, Adrien slammed the end button, effectively cutting off Alya.

Marinette stared at him, obviously confused. Alya was about to say model. And Nino had mentioned something about Adrien being Paris’ best model. She pursed her lips and stared at him, trying to remember if she had seen him anywhere. Marinette knew she was quite a bit of an airhead, but she was more than fairly certain that if someone as handsome as Adrien had their face plastered all over Paris, she would notice. She hoped, at least. 

“Why did you do that?” Marinette asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Adrien smiled at her, “I just remembered. I bought a really classic movie about the June Rebellion.” This captured Marinette’s attention. “You may have heard about it. It's called Les Misérables.” He smiled at her as Marinette gasped and clasped her hands, completely forgetting about her earlier suspicions.

“Oh! I love that book! Papa was supposed to take me to see the play but…” she giggled awkwardly and motioned around the room.

Adrien smiled crookedly. “But you got swept up in the Amsterdam storm.” He chuckled lightly and closed Marinette’s sketchbook. “Well it’s not exactly the play. And it’s the 2012 movie, in English no less, but it’s something. So how about we meet up at my place later to watch it?” He asked with an innocent head tilt as he slid Marinette’s sketchbook back towards her.

Marinette took her sketchbook graciously and nodded, smiling up at him, “The Amsterdam storm…seems about right.” She laughed softly. Marinette’s eyes fluttered up and held his gaze, and for in intimate moment, their fiery gaze spoke volumes. Never had the young Parisian believed in the term “the eyes are the windows to the soul” and yet for a split second, when Marinette looked into Adrien’s, she realized that they were crying out for help. Behind the twinkle in them, was a deep fissure of pain and longing. Marinette furrowed her brows and stared at them for a little bit longer, trying to decipher the message hidden deep within them. It wasn’t until the third or fourth time as well as some snapping in her face by Adrien that she pulled from her thoughts.

“-nette! Earth to Marinette, this is pianist Adrien Agreste, requesting purr-mission for attention!” He joked, knowing very well that his dorky cat puns would elicit a response. 

Respond she did, as she groaned softly and rolled her eyes, “Adrien, really. That was terrible, even for you.” Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, “I don’t even know where your obsessions for cats come from. They’re evil creatures. Well, except for my cat, Tikki. She’s the sweetest little thing ever.”

“Ah. The little Siamese cat who is always wiggling her way into the camera during video calls?” He mused. 

Marinette’s eyes sparkled at the thought of her cat; her beloved little Siamese who made the journey across borders with her to the Netherlands from Paris. She smiled and nodded excitedly, lacing her fingers together and leaning forward, “Tikki is really the sweetest cat ever. I’ve had her ever since high school. I found her alone in a box and decided to take her home and nurse her back to health.” She paused and glanced up, surprised to see that Adrien was eagerly listening.

“I had every intention of turning her into the shelter at first, but I couldn’t bear to do it after she became attached to me” she continued, “So I kept her. And I made her a little spotted bow and everything.” She reflected on the memory fondly, as Tikki had become a true source of comfort for her throughout the years. 

Adrien smiled and nodded appreciatively. “You’re really lucky then. I used to have a black cat. His name was Plagg but after my mom-” his voice cracked and he caught himself. His eyes became murky with emotion and his nose crinkled. His eyes dropped to the table as if it would have the words to finish his sentence. He pursed his lips and glanced back up, his eyes meeting Marinette’s once more.

Marinette waited patiently, eyes locked on his. She was hoping he would open up to her, but remembered Mrs. Van Baas’ words and decided better. She smiled at him encouragingly, and did well to hide her disappointment when he swallowed thickly and shook his head.

“Ah…forget I said anything. Anyways…” he made waved his hand dismissively to motion he had moved on from the topic, “The movie: Les Misérables. I have it on DVD so if you can, you’re free to come over and watch it.” He smiled at her. Marinette’s face lit up with a bright red color, staring at Adrien dumbfounded. She opened and closed her mouths a few times in a feeble attempt to speak, before letting it hang open slightly. 

Adrien looked at her a bit confused but smiled nonetheless, “Something the matter?”

Marinette made a small squeak in response. She stood hastily, gathered her items, and pointed at the door, “Erm…Ms. Martha wanted me to stop by a-and drop off my designs! I have to go! Later you see, wait no. See later you. Ugh! See you later!” She waved awkwardly before she hastily made her way out of the café. Heart racing and leaving a stunned Adrien behind, Marinette made a beeline straight to her employers’ building in the IJ Water Front district. Hopping on some trains and rushing as fast as her nimble legs could take her, Marinette was standing in front of her boss’s building no more than what seemed a second later. The dark haired woman took a deep breathe to ease her anxieties and marched confidently into the office building, head held high. 

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Marinette liked to think that she had grown out of her awkward high school phase. She no longer stuttered (as much) nor did she trip and fall as easily as she used to. But as soon as she stepped foot out of the elevator and into the hallway that led to her boss’s office, she broke into a mad sprint towards the office and ungracefully stumbled in. She received a face full of carpet as prize for first place. 

“Ms. Martha!” Marinette sobbed as she peeled herself from the floor and rubbed her injured forehead with a pout.

The fashion designing queen was sitting behind her desk, looking like something straight out of her magazines. Her stylish bob framed her hair perfectly and her bangs hung right above her perfectly arched eyebrows. When she stood hastily to make her way to Marinette, the Parisian took a minute to admire her jumpsuit. Of course, it was all black, as was Martha Bali’s entire designer styles, but the way that it seemed so well suited to her never failed to amaze Marinette. If black was created for anyone, it was definitely Ms. Martha. 

“Darling!” Ms. Martha cried as she helped Marinette up and off the ground (although her intern would be a liar if she didn’t admit how she ogled her boss’s designer heels) and led her over to the seat in front of her desk. “You scared the life out of me! I was admiring some of the competition’s previous designs when _wha-bam!_ You crash landed in my office!” She rubbed Marinette’s injured forehead affectionately.

“Competition?” Marinette asked curiously as Ms. Martha returned to her seat behind her desk.

“I want to do something new!” Ms. Martha lamented and picked up a glass of red wine. She took a drink of it to drown her sorrows‒ and Marinette began to realize that perhaps the Dutch fashion queen was a little tipsy‒ and spoke again, “Unprecedented! Never before seen! Something that will turn the heads of people and amaze everyone worldwide! But it seems whatever idea I come up with, this little rat has already done!” She turned her computer screen to show her intern the homepage of Gabriel Agreste’s fashion website.

“Ah! Gabriel Agreste! He was my favorite fashion designer growing up!” Marinette’s eyes sparkled as she began looking at all his new designs. She pretended to miss the sour look on Ms. Martha’s face as soon as she spoke his name.

Ms. Martha clicked the link for the archives. “He’s a pretentious bastard. Never collaborating. Never giving his opinion or vouch for next spring’s color. He’s…he’s infuriating that man!” She huffed and crossed her arms. Ms. Martha threw herself back onto the chair in what appeared to be a pout. 

Marinette smiled sympathetically at the older woman and began to scroll through the years. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.” 

“Oh Marinette. You’re always a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m surprised Adrien hasn’t knelt on a knee yet.” Ms. Martha teased and watched a blush explode across Marinette’s freckled cheeks. She chuckled as Marinette tripped over her own words and tried to form a coherent sentence. Ms. Martha began to scroll through the archives of Gabriel Agreste’s website and clicked on a fashion line from the fall season nine years ago. “Oh this one if my favorite!” Ms. Martha said bitterly, strangely enough. “Gabriel matched burgundy with army green, a genius combination. Fall was so chic that season.” Ms. Martha sighed and began to scroll through the different models.

Marinette’s breath hitched slightly. “Wait! Go back!” She nearly leaped across the desk to seize the mouse from Ms. Martha. The Dutch woman held her hands up in surrender and looked at Marinette confused. Not like she could care. Marinette had sworn she had seen someone vaguely familiar.

Her eyes grew to the size of plates as she gawked at the model on screen. His blonde hair was side-swept and that jawline was unmistakable. He stood with his hands tucked away in the pockets of his army green pants and true to word, the model wore a burgundy long sleeve with a soft brown coat over it. His pose was simplistic yet artistic, looking down with his eyes closed and taking a step to nowhere in particular. As Marinette scrolled to the next couple of pictures, it was the same model in the same outfit, just different poses. 

“That’s…that’s…” Marinette stammered and pointed at the screen, suddenly forgetting how to wield control of the French language.

“Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste. He did model a lot of his father’s clothing. Your little pianist friend.” Ms. Martha watched Marinette curiously. “What’s the issue, dear? You seem like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Marinette sunk back down in her seat and stared at the computer screen. “How…how could I not have known? I know I live under a rock but…Adrien…Gabriel…that’s….huh…” Marinette mumbled to herself.

Ms. Martha tilted her head and stared at the bluebell-eyed girl in disbelief, “You mean to tell me that you didn’t know the man you’ve been practically dating for six months was a model in his teen years?” 

Marinette was suddenly reminded of why she came over and groaned softly. She dropped her face into her hands and shook her head. “I’m not dating him but…he invited me over to his house for the first time today…and it’s not just to try and get into this time like other guys. It’s something more serious. As if this is a date of sorts? I’m not sure and…and I don’t know what to do.” Marinette admitted and dropped her arms to her side with a sigh. “I mean. I’ve never really gotten this serious before with anyone. With other guys, it’s only ever been two dates and if they’re lucky, sex. But with Adrien…I’m scared of messing up.” Marinette reflected.

Ms. Martha gave the poor girl a shit-eating grin and poked her forehead. “Aha. I see what’s going on here. You’ve been bitten by the lovebug!” 

“W-what?! No! Not at all! Adrien is just a friend and I can’t like him. I can’t. Even if he has eyes that shine like diamonds and hair that looks so soft I just want to run my hand though it and mess it up even more…and a voice so soft and sweet it rivals anything he can possibly play on piano…a-and…” Marinette paled slightly, “Oh shit…I’m in love!” She gasped and held her cheeks.

Ms. Martha let out a loud laugh and grabbed her wine glass. She took a swig of it and spun in her chair childishly. “Oh my dear Marinette is in love! Happy day, happy day! She’s in love!” 

“Ms. Martha! This is serious! I-I don’t know what to do! He wants me to come over and I’m afraid my feelings will get in the way!” Marinette flustered.

The raven-haired women waved her hand dismissively and held her hand out expectantly. “Phone.” She demanded. Marinette shifted a bit nervously but listened nonetheless, handing over the device to her boss. Ms. Martha and she sat in silence as the older designer tapped away at Marinette’s phone. After some time, she handed it back to Marinette. “There. You’ll thank me later.” She said confidently.

“What did you do?” Marinette gawked as she went through her phone to find the source of the tampering. No sooner than the question was asked, her cell phone beeped and vibrated, alerting her of a new text message.

> **Adrien: Haha, tomorrow seems good for me! I didn’t think you would still want to come over after you high-tailed it out of the café. 8:30 sounds good to me! See you then :-)**

After reading the previous message, Marinette let out a strangled noise of betrayal. “You set up a date for me?!” She squeaked.

Mrs. Martha shrugged and winked at Marinette, “If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have.” 

“But I don’t…I’m not sure how to make sense of all of this. Adrien Agreste was a teen model who went to music school and quickly became a piano prodigy. And now I have feelings for someone who must have been plastered on every billboard in Paris and I have to make sure I don’t act like a total idiot around him tomorrow.” Marinette sighed and shook her head. 

“Well the best you can do now is just dress to impress and bring you’re ‘A’ game. Now I need critics reviews of last spring’s dress line on my desk before you leave today.” Ms. Martha said before she closed Gabriel Agreste’s tab and returned to the tedious life of e-mails for management of her stores in North America. 

Marinette nodded and stood. She gathered her belongings, mumbled a “Yes ma’am” half-heartedly before she dragged herself over to her tiny office space in the floors below. As fun as Ms. Martha could be, she made sure to never stray too far from business. 

Marinette sighed as she entered her office and closed the door. The Parisian rested her shoulder against door and hugged her sketchbook to her chest with her head lowered. 

“It’s all going to be alright. It’s all going to be alright.” She murmured reassuringly to herself before she set off to work. 

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Marinette tugged at her blouse nervously as she waited for Adrien to pick her up. She stood outside her apartment complex underneath the cloudy weather, purse clutched tightly in her hands. She had offered to bike over to his house, but Adrien insisted on picking her up on his bike, which made absolutely no sense to Marinette. How could his bike be any faster or better than Marinette’s? Deciding the argument wasn’t worth the win, she reluctantly agreed to let him pick her up.

Marinette sighed impatiently and tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear. After much deliberation and uncertainty, Marinette decided on a simplistic outfit that consisted of black pants, a white blouse with a modestly low neckline, and some flats. Fretting about her hair for about an hour, she eventually decided to leave it down and eventually decided to throw in a simple black headband. After learning that Adrien was a model whose face was the dream of every Parisian teenage girl, Marinette became a little bit more self-conscious about her appearance than when she did when she thought he was a simple (yet drop-dead gorgeous) pianist.

The young woman checked the time on her watch and frowned slightly. Adrien said he would pick her up before their set time of 8:30 and while Marinette wasn’t the best person to reprimand someone on their tardiness, she began to worry. She wondered if Adrien had flaked out on her after he realized what a dunce she was. She glanced up in hopes to see Adrien ride up on his bicycle like some sort of dorky night in pitch black concert wear. Heavy lead set in her heart, threatening to make it sink to her stomach in disappointment when she saw no such sight. She began to make plans about what ice cream flavors she would eat while binge-watching a random show on Netflix.

Before she could turn on her heel and retreat back to her apartment, a sleek black motorcycle pulled up in front of her. The rider looked like a typical motorcyclist: leather jacket zipped half way, stone-washed jeans and a simple white t-shirt. He pulled off his helmet to reveal a mop of blonde hair, shaking his hair to settle it in its proper messy fashion.

“Hey, Mari! Sorry I was almost late. Rehearsal got out a little later than I anticipated.” He smiled apologetically before running a gloved hand through his hair. He stood the bike up on his kickstand and hopped off it to greet her with a _bise_ , the customary greeting of their homeland. 

Marinette flushed red and tried to eradicate the thought of _’holyfuckingshitthisisanactualmodelhowfuckingstupidamI?’_ to the best of her ability. She took a deep breath and flashed him one of her signature cutesy smiles, “Salut, Adrien.” Her eyes flashed to his motorcycle before meeting his again, “I didn’t know you rode a motorcycle.” 

Adrien shrugged, “Growing up in an over-protective environment…you tend to want to try new things once you’re free.” He paused and searched Marinette’s bluebell eyes as if he was hoping for a reaction, “Plus, it’s a great way to stand out from the bicycle scene here.” He laughed off the tension. 

Marinette smiled but mentally filed away that bit of information for later on. “Do you expect me to ride without a helmet on? How dangerous.” She teased.

Adrien tsk-ed and stepped forward. He slipped his motorcycle helmet onto Marinette’s head in one fluid motion and smiled cheekily at her, “Never worry about safety around me, princess.” He flirted.

Marinette was glad the helmet only exposed her eyes, because Adrien couldn’t see the blush that settled across her cheeks once more, and she’d be damned if she gave him the satisfaction of the reaction he got out of her. “Yeah, well what about you?” She poked his chest at the word ‘you’ to provide emphasis. 

Adrien shrugged before he hopped back onto his motorcycle and patted the seat behind him. “Me before you, my lady~” He sung and Marinette swore to never again let her knees get as weak as they did when he sung. She walked over to the motorcycle, slid herself onto it, and wrapped her arms around Adrien’s waist. She rested her helmeted head on his back and squeezed her eyes shut as Adrien revved the engine and took off flying down the streets. Oud-West zipped past her eyes and slowly began to melt away and become the vibrant Oud-Zuid district.

Marinette gripped his waist a bit tighter and squeezed her eyes shut. She let out a small squeal of terror and delight as she felt Adrien accelerate more and weave through cars, obviously to be a show-off. The trip was reasonably much shorter on motorcycle than in car as Adrien pulled up to a fancy apartment complex at the end of a street. Once he killed the motor, Marinette hobbled off and doubled over, 

“If that’s what you always drive like on a motorcycle, I’m never accepting a ride from you again.” She groaned. Marinette stood upright and took the motorcycle helmet off before she ran a hand through her hair in a pathetic attempt to fix it.

Adrien smiled and ruffled her hair to annoy her, which he unfortunately succeeded in doing, and laced his fingers with hers. A shockwave raced up Marinette’s arm and dove straight into her heart and made it race. Countless times of before, Marinette and Adrien had held hands before but now, Marinette couldn’t help but feel jumpy at it. She smiled nervously at him as he led her up the stairs to his apartment. 

They got countless of stares and gapes on way up to his apartment, many teasing Adrien about how he had finally broken out of his shy shell. Adrien had teased her on the fourth floor about how surprised he was she hadn’t become winded. Marinette quipped back that she had her own fair share of exercise throughout her week. She internally thanked herself for pledging to stay fit when she moved to the Netherlands as they arrived to Adrien’s fifth floor apartment.

After a graceful fumble with his keys, Adrien smiled at her and held the door open for her, “After you, princess.” He smiled.

The words made Marinette’s heart flutter as she stepped into the apartment with a gracious nod of her head. Adrien followed at her heels and closed the door behind him. He smiled and gestured at his apartment. “Welcome to my humble abode.” joked Adrien.

“Humble?” Marinette scoffed as she walked around the living room curiously. She stopped in front of an upright piano and brushing her hand along the fall that covered the keys. “The living room itself is bigger than my entire apartment.” 

Adrien smiled and shrugged slightly, “As much as other musicians joke about not getting paid well, I can’t complain. I play for the best orchestra in the world. The pay is bound to be good.” 

“Rich kid.” Marinette jokingly muttered under her breath and elicited a genuine laugh from Adrien. 

“Hey. You work for Martha Bali. Your salary must be satisfying.” Adrien pointed out before he disappeared into his kitchen and left Marinette to wander over after looking around a little more. Besides small replicas of some classical painting, the walls were completely barren of any pictures or reminders of his life Paris; a stark contrast to Marinette’s vividly decorated walls. 

“Well. I’m an intern for her, so technically I don’t get paid. I only get paid for my job at the bakery.” Marinette pointed out. 

“Well. You have a roof over your head and food on your table. Can’t complain, now, can we?” Adrien said. He retrieved two wines flutes and a wine bottle from a small wine cooler. “Chateau Latour?” He asked and flashed her the label on the bottle.

“Getting fancy, aren’t we?” Marinette giggled as Adrien popped the cork and began to pour them some wine. The blonde handed a flute to Marinette before he held it up to her with a warm smile.

“ _Pour la France, notre pays._ ” Adrien declared, glass still raised.

Marinette smiled and met her glass with his, “ _Notre pays._ ” She agreed, before their glasses parted ways and she took a quick drink of the wine. She took a moment to savor the taste of it, as well as the comfortable silence. “I’m going to admit, this is the fanciest wine I’ve ever had.” She laughed bashfully before she ventured back to the living room. 

“Usually we just drink Pinot Noir at dinner. Chardonnay if we want to get fancy.” Marinette supplied as she sat on the couch and glanced out the window to the moonless night.

She felt the couch dip next to her and felt her heart skip a beat when she turned to see how close Adrien was sitting to either. He had set his wine flute on his coffee table and took her hand gently into his. Marinette was no light-weight, but she could have sworn the wine got to her quickly due to the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks.

“Well, growing up well off like I did…we didn’t have to buy wine at the local supermarket, thankfully.” He teased and prompted a childish raspberry to be blown at him, courtesy of the dark-haired young woman.

“Whatever.” She huffed and took another drink of her wine. “So…the movie?” Marinette tried to change the subject when Adrien hesitantly rested his hand on her thigh.

“I thought we could talk for a bit, _cherie_.” Adrien replied as he took her wine glass from her hand and set it next to his.

The nervousness that she had done so well to control suddenly overtook Marinette when their hands brushed, “W-we can talk about the fact t-that you’re a famous model! A-and the son of one of my favorite fashion designers!” She suddenly blurted.

Adrien’s eyes went wide as he slightly gaped at her. “What? No, I…” suddenly, he was at a loss for words. He pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands, “Y-yeah. We can talk about that.” He dejectedly conceded. 

“Honestly. I’m a little embarrassed with myself. I want to become a famous fashion designer, and it took me that long to even recognize you.” Marinette offered as a form of condolence. “I only found out yesterday when Ms. Martha was going through your father’s website.” 

Adrien didn’t speak. He stared at the couch for a long time, eyes holding that familiar faraway yet calculating look. After a while, he glanced up at Marinette. “My father was a possessive man. He never let me leave the house much and I didn’t even get to attend school like everyone else. It happened all after my mother left him one day for the same reason. She was fed up with him. So she walked out. She tried taking me with her, but it would be hard to leave with a child. It would become a huge legal issue.” Adrien began. He stood and walked over to the piano, opening the fall and staring at the keys.

Marinette eyes followed Adrien anxiously, with an instant regret that she had ever even said anything. She opened her mouth to speak but Adrien beat her to it, “My mother played the piano for me a lot. Her name was Claire. Claire Agreste.” He softly pressed down on a key, “The night she left, she played for me my favorite work: _Lieberstraum_ by Franz Liszt. I didn’t think much of it then, but she was crying while she played it. I thought it was because she loved the music. Now I see it was because she knew it was the last time she would see me.”

“So you came to the Netherlands…to escape your father?” Marinette wondered, eyes locked on Adrien for any sign of pain or hesitance. She stood and walked over to Adrien, sitting on the piano bench next to him.

“Yes. But also because playing piano is my bridge only to broadcast myself. It’s a way to spread my name. I want to find my mother. I believe that if she sees that I became a pianist such as her, she will return to me.” Adrien supplied. The pianist took Marinette’s hand and placed it on the piano, before he rested his on top of hers. “I didn’t want to be a musician anyways.” 

Marinette’s eyes wandered to his lips, before flickering back up to his shining green eyes, “Well, what did you want to be?” 

“A particle physicist.” 

Marinette stifled a giggle and Adrien pouted at her.

“You’re laughing at me.” He grumbled.

“N-no! It’s just that…that’s so nerdy!” 

Adrien huffed and looked away, arms crossed firmly on his chest. Marinette leaned into him and placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest, “Adrien! I’m sorry!” She insisted, although her crooked smile said otherwise. “Listen, the moon is hiding! Why don’t you call it out for me?” She smiled and stood. “Play me a piece: Chopin’s _Nocturne_ , Beethoven’s _Moonlight Sonata._ Anything related to the moon, it doesn’t matter.” She stood and danced to the small, nearby balcony, picking up her wine glass on the way. Marinette pushed open the double doors open and walked straight to the rail, leaning on it with crossed arms to gaze out towards Amsterdam’s streets.

She glanced up at the sky and sure enough, the clouds covered the moon. Only a weak glow that lit up the clouds around the moon was the evidence that the moon was even out. The Parisian closed her eyes and enjoyed the soft breeze that blew through the streets of the city. Amsterdam was definitely no City of Lights, but it was charming in its own way, a way Marinette could appreciate. The bicycle scene was definitely a relief from Paris’ overbearing traffic. Yet there was a spot in Marinette’s heart that solely belonged to Paris and Paris alone. 

Sweet piano music pulled her from her thoughts as she turned to see Adrien’s fingers on the keys, producing soft chords that rang out in the stillness of the apartment and out into the cool fall air of the balcony. She watched Adrien interestedly and took note of his position: his eyes closed and body slightly hunched over the piano, unlike this professional upright position he demonstrated at the concert. Instantly, Marinette could recognize the tune he began to play:

 _Clair De Lune._

The soft lullaby her mother would sing to her at night as a child. Marinette grew to love the song, as it constantly reminded her of her mother. The Dupain-Chengs had a running joke that every cloudy night, _Clair De Lune_ was to be played in an attempt to draw the moon from its hiding spot behind the clouds. Perhaps homesickness was why Marinette asked Adrien to play her a moon-related song. The way Adrien knew to play the composition by Debussy was beyond Marinette. How reminiscent of home was this moment, as she turned to look at the sky and searched for the moon again, the clouds thickening around it. She pursed her lips and looked at Adrien, who continued his piano playing.

His body swayed with every crescendo and decrescendo, eyes fluttered shut and mouth barely open. His fingers danced along the ivory keys with vivid grace, yet the sound it produced was very different from the way his fingers pressed on the keys when the song began its slow build. Instead of matching the increasingly apparent aggressiveness of his hands, the music was much more yearning. Marinette thought of how the piece was a namesake to Adrien’s mother, and the sentimental value it must have held to him. However, if the longing Adrien felt for his mother was the same longing as was transpired during his performance of _‘Liebestraum’_ , it certainly wasn’t the longing that came through in this piece, no. This longing was much different. It craved for love and attention, yes, but it also cried out for something much more sensual.

Taking another cautious drink of her wine, Marinette dared to look over at Adrien, lips pressed against the rim of her wine glass and eyes half lidded. Adrien had thrown his head back, eyes still shut, as the music built to its climax. His mouth moved as if in a silent prayer and Adrien’s rocked back and forth, his fingers slamming down with the keys. Marinette felt chills run up her arms when the music slowly began to die down in a succession of sixteenth notes. She watched as Adrien stilled, eyes opening the slightest before he closed them once more and began his playing. 

The velvet music filled the room and flowed out to the streets through the doors, and for the first time, Marinette wondered if Adrien’s neighbors ever found themselves annoyed with the piano music. If they did, they were either fools or classless. Adrien’s music was much more than the notes on the page. When he played the piano, his music transcended the realm of quarter notes and rests and entered a much more colorful world of imagination and emotions. Marinette could hear his every heartbeat in the notes, his every breath aligned with the notes, and his emotions overwhelmingly pouring out as he played the piece. Adrien was not playing the piano; he was using the piano as medium for his emotions. 

Eyes fluttering shut, Marinette envisioned herself under the moonlight by the Seine River back in Paris. The wind howled and blew against her, but when she opened her eyes, the water was still, despite the blowing wind. She stood on the Pont des Arts Bridge, staring all the locks that hung off the bridge which represented couples whom proclaimed their undying devotion to each other. She looked back up to the sky, the gloomy clouds of Amsterdam following her to her beloved Paris. The nightlife was awfully quiet, strange, and definitely unlike the City of Lights. The only noise she could hear was Adrien’s piano playing, striking a chord in her heart.

She crouched down and took a lock into her hands. It was completely barren of any name or information linking it to its couple. She felt a tug once more at the bottom of her heart yet it wasn’t anything that Adrien had played, while his music was lovely. It was the sight of the bridge itself, and the reason Marinette knew she was imagining herself standing on this bridge.

_She was in love with Adrien._

Marinette slowly opened her eyes and looked back up to the sky. Behind her, the music softened. It was nearing its end and Marinette knew that she would have to speak to him. To Adrien. Yet she didn’t trust herself enough to speak. She was afraid of messing up, now that she recognized her true feelings for him. Despite all the doubts that ran free in her mind, Marinette strangely felt at peace. Past her anxieties and fear, Marinette knew what she had to do. She had to tell Adrien how she felt. Perhaps not now or anytime soon, but Adrien deserved to know how she felt, and Marinette deserved to know if he felt the same about her.

Her lips pulled into a soft smile when she realized that the clouds had parted, and the moon was now shining down on the city, bathing the roof tops, trees and the streets itself in a soft glow. Adrien played the last notes of the piece and silence descended upon the apartment once more.

She heard the piano bench scrap against the floor as Adrien stood and made his way over to Marinette. She exhaled softly and set her glass of wine down on a table that stood right on the inside of the apartment by the entrance of the balcony. “The moon,” Marinette breathed, “you called him out.” 

Adrien’s arms wound their way around her waist and she felt her breath hitch slightly. He pressed his cheek against her neck, his steady breath tickling her. The shorter woman placed her hands on his arms and closed her eyes, basking in both the soft moonlight and in Adrien’s affection.

“Do you resent me?” came the sudden question from Adrien. Marinette was taken aback.

“Why would I?” She spoke softly, afraid of ruining the tranquility of the moment. 

“I lied to you. I kept a secret from you. That’s bound to be some grounds for dislike.” Adrien murmured.

“You had every reason to. I was a stranger to you. You had no obligation to be telling me your life story.” Marinette reassured him, one of her hands sliding up his arms and resting on his jaw, softly stroking it.

“You told me yours.” Adrien remarked.

“My case is…different.” Marinette explained. She turned in his arms and Adrien moved his head from her neck. She stepped back inside the apartment and pressed her back against the wall, Adrien followed close behind her stood on front of her, cautiously placing his hands on her waist and watching for any sign of hesitance. Marinette nodded and Adrien cupped her cheek with his free hand, leaning in to her.

“Then tell me. Do you view me differently because of my background? Because of whom my father is?” Adrien spoke in a low voice.

Marinette swallowed thickly and grasped the wall behind her. She met his eyes and chewed on her lip softly. A second of silence hung between them. And then two. “Who your father is makes no difference on who you are to me. I want to have something with you, not your father. I-I want Adrien…Agreste title or not. I want the Adrien who makes fun of me when I get chocolate on my nose from crepes, and stops by the bakery to flirt and make fun of my apron until Mrs. Van Baas yells at him, and he’s forced to buy something. I want the Adrien who texts me when he gets out of long rehearsals that he’s okay because he knows I worry about him. I want the Adrien who gives me extra-long hugs when I’m feeling homesick and the Adrien whose laugh makes me want to melt in my shoes. I want you for you, not for your past. While I will embrace it and help you move on, I want the present Adrien. And…and I’m hoping you’ll have me for your future.” 

Adrien stood absolutely speechless in front of Marinette, eyes wide and mouth agape. His eyes searched hers for any signs of lying or deception, and when he found none, Adrien’s voice returned to him, albeit unsure and soft, unlike his usual eager and bubbly voice around Marinette. “Can…Can I kiss you?”

Marinette let out a shaky breath, eyes darting to his lips. “Please.”

Adrien leaned in and Marinette snaked her arms around his neck, arching her back softly. Adrien was close enough so Marinette could smell the faint scent of wine on his breath and admire the way the soft moonlight reflected in his alluring, green eyes. “Are you sure?” Adrien asked again, brushing his lips against hers. Marinette only nodded weakly and Adrien pressed his lips against hers, dropped his hand from her cheek to her waist to pull her closer. Marinette obliged and screwed her eyes shut, relishing the kiss with Adrien.

Slowly but surely, the once innocent kiss developed into a more sensual one, Adrien’s lips moving against hers erotically. His teasing bites and occasional tongue slipping through her lips made her knees want to give out. “Adrien…” Marinette breathed, panting against his lips as his hands explored her body, squeezing her and tugging there, and taking note of every reaction he got from her.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Do you want me to stop?” Adrien asked seriously. Marinette shook her head and met his eyes, jumping slightly when his hands wandered beneath her blouse. “Sorry. Too forward?” He wondered again.

“No. I want to have sex with you. But only if you want to as well.” Marinette said with a soft moan.

“Of course, _ma cherie_.” Adrien affirmed, before he took her hand, closed the balcony doors, and led her to his bedroom. 

Adrien’s bedroom was similar to his living room. The walls were white and void of any pictures or memories. Two bookcases were tucked away in the far corner of a room with book selections ranging from Quantum physics text books to Harry Potter. The bed was at the center of the room, directly facing the door and pushed up against the far wall. Black was the headboard and white was the bed’s crisp sheets. Two nightstands were at its side, one with a lamp and the other with a small pot of forget-me-nots and a picture of whom Marinette presumed was Adrien’s mother without a doubt. He was a spitting image of her.

The curtains were parted ever so slightly, letting a small amount of moonlight filter in. Marinette turned to Adrien, who stood over by a small speaker. After popping in a CD, classical piano music began to fill the room. Marinette couldn’t help but smile at what a dork she had fallen for. 

“Mood music. Debussy.” Adrien shrugged. He guided her over to his bed and gently pushed her down onto it. Marinette looked up at him when he climbed in between her legs. Her hands reached up and grasped his shoulders tightly.

“Are you sure about this?” Adrien asked one final time.

“As sure as I’ll ever be.” Marinette reassured, and after a moment, added “Why do you keep asking?” 

“Because I don’t want you to have any regrets.” Adrien’s voice was low once more.

Marinette pulled him in for a kiss and shook her head, “No regrets, Adrien. I want this.” She said once more. Adrien nodded and began to kiss her once more, pressing his body against hers. Then and there, the two Parisians made love to each other as they bathed in the cool moonlight and soft music. Fiery kisses, soft gasps, pleasure-filled moans and whisperings of sweet nothings accompanied the young couple as they made love to each other under the _clair de lune._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know, 'Clair De Lune' translates into 'Moonlight'  
> And for whomever didn't catch on...  
> Adrien was metaphorically fucking Marinette while playing piano.


	4. Gloomy Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette and Adrien are finally a thing and it's smooth sailing from here on in!
> 
> Or is it?
> 
> One notification from Adrien's phone and shit hits the fan!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for this super late update! But hey! It's updated. Also, see the end of chapter for notes! 
> 
> Please tell me of anyyyyy mistakes! This chapter is un beta-read
> 
> Here's the title piece for this chapter! It's not a classical song but it's still a beautiful old song. I will trigger warn, however, because it's also the notorious Hungarian Suicide Song.
> 
>  
> 
> [ Gloomy Sunday (Hungarian Suicide Song) ](https://youtu.be/55FP1LfkkVQ)
> 
>  
> 
> So here we go! Chapter 4 of 7, if you've noticed. I keep shifting the chapter numbers. I've outlined the rest of the story, I know the exact direction I want it to go, but it won't fit in 5 chapter. My original motive for 5 chapters was the fact that Sonatas are usualy 4 movements long while a serenade (the old kind) are typically one. But, I added an epilouge and an after-the-epilouge, so it's a neo-Sonata.
> 
> Enough with my babbling! Enjoy!

Adrien stirred from his sleep and tentatively reached out to feel for a warmth next to him that was missing. A certain weight that had been there last night was now missing. He furrowed his brows and slowly opened his eyes. The beautiful, dark-haired woman who once laid next to him was missing. Panic bubbled in his throat as he sat up and looked around wildly, looking any signs of her. He spotted her white blouse along with her pants on the floor, where they had been discarded last night. He did notice, however, that his shirt was missing. 

Adrien sat up and pulled on his boxer-briefs before he left his room and made a beeline for the kitchen. Ethereal smells were wafting their way out of the kitchen, and God knows that Adrien could never be able to cook something that good. He turned the corner and followed the light of his kitchen, the only light that lit up his otherwise dark apartment. “Marinette?” Adrien called out with a raspy voice as he stepped into the kitchen.

The young fashion designer stood in front of the stove, humming to herself as she cooked something in a pan. She wore Adrien’s missing shirt, which fit her life a dress. Her hair was down and a total mess, cowlicks sticking up in the most random of places. She turned to look at Adrien with the most placid look in her eyes and the softest smile on her rosy lips. “Good morning Adrien.” She sung. 

Adrien’s heart practically melted as he walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, sighing contently. “Good morning, Marinette.” Huh. That was new. Adrien really never said good morning to anyone before. The last person who he really ever said hello to was his mother. That had been years ago.

“Did you sleep well?” Marinette asked, setting the spatula she was cooking with down as and turning in his arms to face him. 

“Like a baby.” said Adrien a bit dreamily as he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Hm. Must be nice.” Marinette joked as she cupped his face, “I woke up sore.”

Adrien raised a brow, mustering the most shit-eating grin he could muster “Oh, did you now? Maybe I could help you stretch out the muscles or perhaps give you a nice massage?” 

“In your dreams, lover boy.” scoffed the shorter girl as she placed her finger on the pianist's nose and pushed him away. 

“Mmm. Now would you prefer last night’s events never happen?” Adrien teased.

“Now I never said that.”

“Really now?”

Marinette’s playful grin smiled as she moved her hands from his face to his shoulders. She looked up at him seriously, “Adrien, last night was quite possibly the best night of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not for the world.” Adrien’s heart soared at her words as he pulled her closer. “I love you.” 

Adrien swallowed thickly. He couldn’t bring himself to say it back, even if he did love her back, and he knew that he did with every fiber of his being. So instead, he simply kissed her. Marinette melted into the kiss and she swooned lightly, Adrien holding her even tighter. Hours could have passed and Adrien would have never noticed for all that mattered to him in the moment was Marinette.

The smell of something burning pulled the two from their kiss.

“Adrien! The eggs!”

______________

A small form scurried their way through the damp streets of Amsterdam, hiding a small box of pastries under their coat. The heavy rain was not foreign to the progressive city, but it still caught the person by surprise. After all, Sundays were usually dreary days, as they bought monday the next day. The person weaved in and out of the crowded streets, full of colourful umbrellas housing Amsterdammers and tourists alike. The person arrived at an all too familiar apartment complex, bid the concierge hello, before making their way all the way up to the apartment on fifth floor at the very end of the hall, to the left. 

“Adrien~” Marinette knocked on the door. She rocked back and forth on her heels, waiting patiently for her boyfriend to appear at the door. It had been a month since their initial night together, and the succeeding days had been the best days of Marinette’s life. “Mon minou?” Marinette pressed her lips against the door and called to him. The nickname came after Marinette noticed Adrien’s cat-like tendencies: constant nuzzling against her, extreme clinginess and on some occasions, whining for attention until Marinette gave it to him. 

The door swung open and a hand reached out, grabbing Marinette’s wrist and tugging her into the apartment. Marinette’s laughed as she stumbled into the apartment, closing the door behind her. “Adrien!” She squealed as he quickly enveloped her into a hug and buried his face in her hair. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you!” he chanted as she squeezed her tighter. 

“Adrien I can’t _breathe!_ ” Marinette wheezed as Adrien loosened his grip on her reluctantly, grinning.

“I can’t help it! I just missed you!” Adrien said, pecking her cheek affectionately. 

“It’s fine.” Marinette insisted. The two had plans to meet up early that day, but Adrien had forgotten he had to teach his student, who was a young middle-school aged boy who begged his parents for piano lessons to impress girls. As absurd as it sounded, his parents agreed and sought Adrien, the person they saw best fit as a piano teacher for he was not too young nor too old. Besides, being a pianist for the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra gave you a pretty good reputation.

Marinette looked down at the box of pastries in her hands, now crushed from Adrien’s death hug, and presented it to him. “I made chocolate eclairs and crepes last night for Mrs. Van Baas.” 

Marinette could see Adrien’s mouth water, “Oh my god, Mari! You’re an angel!” 

“Actually, I’m a baker.” She laughed.

Adrien smiled up at her, “I see my jokes are rubbing off on you, princess.” Adrien crowed. After spending nearly a year together, they each took a bit of the other’s respective personality. Adrien learned to be more social with people, and Marinette learned to make terrible jokes. 

Marinette laughed and pulled him over to his couch, pushing him down on it before she made herself at home in his arms. She curled up in his lap, still blushing at the intimacy of it. Of course, they had been much closer in much less saintful ways, but even still. Marinette was still getting accustomed to the fact that he was hers and she was his. “How were the lessons?”

“Normal as usual. Fabian learns so quickly. Milan always teases me and says that Fabian will be hired when I leave.” Adrien laughed through his nose. Marinette made a face at his last statement, wondering what he meant by leave, yet ignored it otherwise.

“As long as he doesn’t go to Mrs. Van Baas bakery and try to flirt with the new worker there.” Marinette smiled before she leaned in. “Go get some movies. I want to eat these pastries while watching a movie.” 

“Your wish is my command, princess.” Adrien said as he moved her off of him and disappeared into his bedroom. 

Marinette smiled and sprawled out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. She was lost in her thoughts when a buzzing came from underneath her back. Arching her spine, she pulled out the culprit and saw it was Adrien’s phone, vibrating with a notification of an e-mail. Marinette sat up and unlocked the phone to check the e-mail, furrowing her brows when she saw it was from the London Symphony. She began to read it, translating it from English to the best of her abilties.

**Dear, Mr. Agreste,**

**Congratulations!**

**After your January audition, It is with utmost pleasure that the London Symphony Orchestra welcome you to the Orchestra as our principle pianist! We are excited for you to join us, as your extensive resume and awards make a strong name for you. The London Symphony Orchestra (LSO) is a world-renowned orchestra which performs for several world leaders as well as provides the soundtrack for several films, such as _The People’s Land, Yellow Canary, Star Wars, Harry Potter_ and _The Imitation Game_. **

The letter went on but Marinette couldn’t read the rest. Her whole world tipped sideways and her stomach felt queasy. Adrien would be leaving the Netherlands and be on his merry way to England. Marinette didn’t exactly know how to feel about this. Of course, she was happy for Adrien. He would be apart of a much more well known orchestra. Yet Marinette couldn’t help but feel afraid and insecure. Of course she couldn’t follow him to London. She had to stay here with Ms. Martha and her internship. Marinette couldn’t give up on her dreams of being a fashion designer when it was so close in her reach. And she wasn’t sure if she could handle a long-distance relationship.

“Marinette?” Adrien called, appearing from his bedroom door, “Moulin Rouge or the Little Prince?” He asked. Marinette quickly locked his phone and placed it back on the couch. She forced a smile. 

“Adrien, I’m so sorry! Ms. Martha just texted me. She needs me back at the office, something about helping her with the next spring design. I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Marinette tried to keep her voice as even as possible. It was quite a task for her, since the young girl was on the verge of tears. 

Adrien frowned and walked towards her, “But you just got here. Can’t she wait?” He took her hands and Marinette instantly withdrew. 

“N-no, I need to go Adrien.” Marinette started towards the door. 

“Wait!” Adrien cried and Marinette turned to face him. “Let me take you to Ms. Martha’s office then.” Marinette shook her head and Adrien frowned. “It’s raining, Marinette. I’m not going to let you walk.” 

“Adrien, please.” Marinette’s voice cracked as she looked at him, “I-I’ll be fine. I have my coat.”

Adrien bit his lip and took an umbrella from the table next to his door, “Take this at least. And call me when you get there.” He shoved the umbrella into her hands and their hands briefly brushed. Marinette looked up at Adrien, a look of shock crossing her face. She breathed and locked eyes with him. Adrien was smiling down at her, his eyes were confident yet full of affection for her. A loud thunderclap pulled Marinette out of her thoughts as she gripped the umbrella and nodded.

“I-I will…” She nodded and turned, hurrying out of his apartment.

“See you soon?” He called after her, but Marinette only disappeared down the flight of stairs. When she descended, Marinette stopped by the concierge, “Please give this to Monsieur Agreste on the fifth floor.” She left the umbrella on the desk, bid him thank you and was well on her way. 

Marinette walked the rainy streets of Amsterdam, finally allowing herself to cry. She was thankful for the rain, as it hid her tears well. She tried to keep her sobs quiet as she wandered to nowhere in particular. She stopped by several canal-edges, watching the water flow freely and rapidly due to the canals overflowing with rainwater. She sat under cafe awnings and walked around parks. She did anything she could to avoid going home. Because at home, she was alone. Tikki, as great of a company as she was, couldn’t comfort her at this moment. 

So Marinette walked. And walked. And walked. 

And what a gloomy sunday it was indeed.

______________

“Nino. It’s been two weeks. I haven’t spoken to her in two weeks!” Adrien wailed into his phone. His friend sighed on the other line and shook his head. 

“Have you considered going over?” Nino asked him and Adrien ran a hand through his unkempt hair.

“No. If she won’t answer my texts and calls what makes you think that she’ll want to see me?” Adrien began to pace, “I don’t understand Nino. What did I do to upset her?” 

“I dunno man. I can talk to Alya. They’re total best friends and Alya is Marinette’s sole confidant.”

“Please?” Adrien hated the vulnerability of his voice. “I-I miss her. I’m gonna lose it if she doesn’t talk to me.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Nino said, and with that, he hung up the phone. Adrien sighed and tossed his phone onto the couch. He paced around for a bit, images of the beautiful raven-haired girl flashed in his mind. Her smile, her laugh, the way she blushed and flustered as well as the way serenity crossed her visage when she was laying down with Adrien. Marinette brought vivid color to his life, and without her, his world was monochrome. 

Adrien stood in front of his coffee table and picked up a framed picture that sat upon it. It was a framed picture of he and Marinette in front of one of the canals, one of Adrien’s arms wrapped around Marinette’s shoulders. The lights of Amsterdam twinkled behind them. Marinette grinned brightly at the camera, her eyes brighter than any light in the city and her signature smile that radiated pure happiness. Meanwhile, Adrien stared at Marinette like she was the sun, moon and all of the stars rolled into one. His own galaxy. His personal heaven. He had the fondest of smiles on his lips. 

Adrien had took a liking to the picture. It perfectly captured their relationship. He felt a heavy lead weight tug at his heartstrings as he frowned at the picture. This had only been a couple of weeks back. Where had Adrien gone wrong? He touched Marinette’s form in the picture and he let out a miserable sigh.

“Oh my dear Marinette. I need you.”

______________

The last two weeks were utter hell for Marinette, to say the least. She had tried to separate herself from Adrien, to lessen the ache of when Adrien left for England. While it wasn’t the best of ideas, as Marinette had been totally miserable for the last couple of weeks, Marinette deemed it necessary. She needed to force herself to lose feelings for Adrien, as ridiculous as it sounded. Marinette remembered a saying a father always told her as a child when she was caught up in a lie: “You can fool other, but you’ll never fool yourself.” 

And that’s exactly what she planned to do.

As much as it hurt her, and a much as she suffered, she would keep up her act. She would pretend to not love Adrien. She hoped to fool him into thinking she had no more feelings. They had both walked the same road together for almost a year and reached a fork in the road. Marinette and Adrien had their own paths set for them. Adrien would look for his mother in one prong, and Marinette in the other would continue her uphill climb towards her dreams of being a fashion designer. Had they been happy together? Of course they had. But it would always be an unfair situation if one gave up their dreams to be with the other. So they had to go their seperate ways. 

As she dwelled over this reality in her mind, Marinette became more sluggish. Her movements were languid and her designs slowly became dull. Even her baking had become less savory. In fact, she had cut herself while baking a batch of poffertjes, making Ms. Van Baas upset, not at the fact that the young girl had bled all over the flour, but because she was so upset she couldn’t work. She was concerned for her little Parisian worker, and so Ms. Van Baas sent her home with a box of pastries and a full day’s pay. Of course she knew what was going on with poor Marinette. The poor girl had cried to her boss about it after hours and Mrs. Van Baas had been nothing but understanding. Afterall, she was Marinette’s Dutch mother.

At home was no better for Marinette. The walls of her apartment seemed to be closing in on her, and her balcony made her think of her first night with Adrien. Anywhere she went was utter torture to her. So she resolved to stay in the kitchen, Tikki in her lap and her box of pastries on the table in front of her. She needed comfort. She needed someone who understood her. And so in a moment of panic, she called Alya and waited for her best friend to answer her phone.

“Marinette!” Alya chirped and laughed. “What’s the matter? Lover boy at rehearsal already? It’s friday. I thought he didn’t have rehearsals on fridays.” 

“Alya…” Marinette’s voice cracked and Alya stopped her laughter.

“Marinette? Mari what’s the matter?” Alya asked concerned. 

“Alya.” Marinette could only repeat before she broke down in sobs. 

“That’s it. I’m on the first flight out.” Alya sternly said, and Marinette knew there was no convincing her otherwise. Marinette was thankful to have a friend as wild and unpredictable as Alya. 

“Jan Evertsenstraat 136, 1056 CL Amsterdam, Netherlands.” Marinette could only whimper out her address. 

“Got it.” Alya said and the sound of ruffling could be heard on the other end. Alya must have been packing her bag. “What’s the nearest market to your house? Of fuck it, I’ll figure it out over there.” Alya said as she hung up. Marinette dropped her phone on the table and buried her face in her hands before she let out a sob and finally allowed herself to cry out what she had bottled up for the last two weeks. She sat at her kitchen table and sobbed.  
_______________

Marinette had woken up to loud, abrupt knocking. Shut sat up and looked around. The skies outside were dark and her apartment was void of all light, save for the lights that illuminated the streets outside. She looked around in bewilderment and found she had cried herself to sleep at the table with Tikki curling up beside her head. She sat up and wiped her tears away, jumping once more at the loud banging. “C-coming!” She called out and went to open the door.

She was at once attacked by a bone-crushing hug by a blur of copper hair while a black duffle bag fell to the floor with a loud ‘ _thud_ ’. Marinette instantly hugged back and closed her eyes, stumbling backwards with her arms wrapped around her friends neck.

“Alya, I-I...I don't know what to say.” Marinette sobbed as the taller girl ushered herself in and closed the door behind the two. She sat Marinette down on the couch and made a beeline to the kitchen, where Marinette could see her taking out a kettle for tea. Once she set the water to boil, she returned to the living room. 

“Now. Tell me from the beginning. What happened?” Alya asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She only spoke so when necessary. 

Marinette took a deep breath and leaned into her best friend, who held her closer. With the support of her best friend, Marinette began to recount the story. She told Alya about the e-mail, about her fears and about her two weeks of torture. Alya sat through the entire thing, nodding and only speaking up for clarification. Marinette was proud of herself for being able to tell the whole story without crying. When the kettle began to scream, Marinette followed Alya to the kitchen and hugged herself until she finished serving her tea. Alya led her to the table, handed Marinette her cup of tea before she sat with her best friend.

Marinette savoured the taste of the tea, as Amsterdammers were fond of coffee. “And so...here you are.” she sniffled. “I can’t believe you actually came. I feel so guilty. How much did it cost? What did you tell your boss?”

Alya waved her hand dismissively. “I flew Air France. I was lucky to catch the last flight out. As for the price?” Alya shrugged. “Money comes and go. I’ll just tell my boss I had an emergency. And if he fires me. Oh well. Someone out there will want to hire a journalist.”

“Alya!” Marinette wailed and Alya pressed a finger to Marinette’s lips.

“Shh. Talk less.”

“Stop quoting musicals.” Marinette deadpanned but couldn’t hide the ghost of a smile at her friend’s humor. 

“Aha! There’s that gorgeous smile!” Alya laughed as she wrapped her arms around Marinette. She spotted the bandaged wrapped around Marinette’s and frowned, pointing at it. “What happened?” 

The shorter girl hid her hand nervously and said “It’s nothing, Alya. I just had an accident at the bakery. I-” Marinette met her eyes and sighed, knowing it was fruitless to lie to Alya, “I was so upset over Adrien, I got careless at the bakery and accidentally cut myself.”

“Marinette!” Alya scolded.

She shrunk away, “It was an accident! In all honesty, it was!” Marinette vouched for herself. Alya shook her head and took a drink of her tea. 

“Honestly, girl...give me Adrien’s address. I’ll go mess him up for playing you like that when he knew he was leaving!” Alya huffed and rolled up her sleeves.

Marinette shook her head glumly, “No...it’s not his fault. I came to the Netherlands following an opportunity and I got sidetracked by a boy.” She had been telling herself that lie over and over again.

Alya shook her head. “Heck no, girl. You deserve to live life too! A jerk like that shouldn’t mess with you.”

Marinette took her teacups in her hand and looked out her window, “I know. But.” She shook her head.

“Enough of this glumness! I’m sick of this doom and gloom. Let’s brighten up this apartment. It’s damp with sadness.” Alya jumped up and began to open the curtains, playing Jagged Stone on her phone and cleaning up the mess that had developed over the past two weeks. 

Marinette smiled. Maybe things would be alright after all.

_________

“Ms. Martha? You asked to see me?” Marinette nervously stepped closer to the Dutchwoman’s desk. 

“Marinette, come in. And what have I said about formalities?” her boss scolded. Marinette bowed her head and mumbled an apology. Ms. Martha smiled, “Honey, how have you been feeling lately? A lot of my employees are worried about the peppy intern who has been looking blue.” 

Marinette looked up at the older woman before she sighed and bowed her head, “Fine. Perfectly fine.” She lied. 

Ms. Martha looked at her in disbelief and Marinette faltered. Crap. She had been caught. “All fine?” Ms. Martha asked once more.

Marinette looked back at the door and then back at Ms. Martha. The door was locked. The office was on its own floor and Marinette’s boss’s eyes were prying. So Marinette broke. She broke down into tears and cried. Ms. Martha stood and wrapped an arm around Marinette, leading the young girl over to her desk chair and sat her down. “It’s so hard!” Marinette wailed and wiped away her tears with the heel of her palm. “It’s so hard to pretend you don’t love someone who has had your heart for the last year.”

Ms. Martha’s brows furrowed “W-what?” 

“It’s Adrien, Ms. Mar- Martha.” Marinette caught herself. “He’s audition to perform with the London Symphony Orchestra and I-I feel like an idiot. He told me his dream was to find his mother by expanding his horizons. A-and I didn’t expect him to leave.” Marinette sobbed and clung onto her boss. “Oh god knows I can’t handle a long distance relationship Martha. And I can’t follow him to London. Not when my dreams are here in Amsterdam.”

Ms. Martha sunk down to her knees to be Marinette’s height and looked her in the eyes. Guilt laid heavy in her dark eyes, “O-oh Marinette...I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I did this. I kept pegging you to date Adrien because it would be a win-win. You would be happy with Adrien and I could perhaps get him to model my clothes. If Gabriel saw his son modeling my clothes, it would coax him into collaborating with me. I-I put my business in front of your human emotions.” She cupped Marinette’s face and shook her head, tearing up, “And I am so, _so_ sorry. I let my own selfish desires get to me and in the process, I hurt you, Marinette.”

Marinette gaped at her boss, unable to speak. The older woman just continued, however, “I will never forgive myself for helping break your heart. But...I will make it up to you.” She sighed. “As you know, I’m moving my headquarters to Paris. I have been planning to for a while, because Paris is much more friendly for the fashion world. I’m only taking my best employees. And I want you to come with me.”

Marinette was awe-struck but shook her head slowly, “M-Martha... I can’t. I’m not an employee remember? I’m an intern.”

Ms. Martha smiled at Marinette. “My dear. I am offering you a job. In fact, I am offering you the job as my assistant designer.” She laughed at the astonished looked on Marinette’s face, “But” she continued sternly “I want you to think long and hard about this. I understand if you choose not to go and-”

“I’ll do it.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“I’ll do it.” Marinette repeated. She took Martha’s hands from her cheeks and held them close, “Amsterdam has nothing for me anymore. I’ll go.”

“But...Adrien.” Ms. Martha said uncertainly. 

The newest employee of Bali designs bit her lip and shook her head. “The world is full of boys. It’s not full of top designing positions for Martha Bali. I’m not about to let go of my dreams and give up everything over a boy.”

Ms. Martha’s lips crinkled in a smile. “That’s my girl.”

“When do we leave?” Marinette asked. “A friend came out to visit me a couple of days ago and It would be rude to leave without giving her notice.”

“We leave as soon as possible. The benefits of a private jet As for your friend? Bring her along. Any friend of Marinette is a friend of mine.” 

Marinette nodded and glanced at the time. It was only minutes away from 3:30 in the afternoon. Everything had been happening so quickly. “I’ll tell her to start packing my things.”  
___________

Adrien paced in his living room. He could feel himself becoming more distant from Marinette and it drove him mad. Three weeks. It was now three weeks since Marinette last contacted him. It had been three weeks too long. The perpetual solitude in his life was simply maddening and frustrating at all the same time. His mother, his sweet mother with hair of gold and bright green eyes had left him. She hadn’t bothered to look back when he raced towards her. She hadn’t bothered to look back when he screamed for her to come back, being held back by his father’s employees. She hadn’t bothered to seek him out after all these years. He was 25, almost 26. He couldn’t resent her, however. If he had the chance to, Adrien would have walked out right behind his mother. His father was simply never there. For either of them. Especially after his mother left, Gabriel had become more like a hollow doll and lived each day to follow through the motions. Gabriel had been the worst kind of father. The kind who made his child bear the curse of Tantalus; always there, but never in reach. 

And now, because of reasons unknown, he had lost Marinette. 

Dear and sweet Marinette, who had been nothing if not kind and patient with him. Who had attended all of his performances that she could and even some rehearsals, sitting patiently and bringing him pastries whenever they had breaks. Marinette, who was there for him when he was homesick just as much as he was for her. Marinette, who but up with his clinginess and nagging and gave him nothing less than love and affection. Who curled up on top of him and watched Disney movies. Who he stood still for for hours on end so she could tailor her latest designs to. Who took countless pictures with him, took him all over Amsterdam and Holland and who was by his side, no matter what.

He had lost Marinette, who took his hand one chilly September night and gave herself up to him. Who told him that she loved him and yet he cowardly couldn’t tell her that he felt the same. Who deserved Adrien to be a much better person for her than he had been treating her. To be able to have the courage to tell her that he loved her.

Adrien stopped pacing in front of the piano and stared at the percussion instrument contemplatively. He turned to look at the clock. It was three-thirty. Without further hesitation, he sat on the bench and opened the fall, sighing shakily. He leaned forward and tentatively pressed some keys. He played some quick scales before drawing a deep breath. He played _Liebestraum_ , pouring all his hurting emotions into the songs. Every crescendo masked a sob and every minor chord was a wail of pain. As the song progressed, however, he couldn’t help but notice his left hand was trying to play a different song. He eventually halted his right hand to listen to the song his left hand was playing and was shocked to find that he was playing soft chords from _Clair De Lune_. 

It was the same song he played for Marinette the same song the night they first had sex. As he continued to play the song, Adrien couldn’t stop the images of Marinette that raced through his mind along with every sixteenth note; her smile, her twinkling eyes, her grin of laughter, her half-lidded eyes and her naked body beaded with sweat. He hadn’t lust for Marinette, no. In fact, he felt no lust for Marinette’s body. When Adrien had sex to Marinette, he made love to her. He could only think of how privileged he was to have a person as great and beautiful as Marinette in his life. She had willingly given her heart to Adrien that night, and Adrien made it his mission to not break it. 

He stopped playing the piano abruptly and stared at his hands. What was wrong with him? He didn’t even know what to feel anymore. And so, he decided to call someone who knew him best, besides Marinette of course. He decided to call Nino. Pulling out his phone, he felt his heart flutter at the image of a sleeping Marinette appearing on his lock screen. Marinette’s head laid on Adrien’s chest with her hand right over his heart. Her hair stuck up in several places and she had dry drool, but Adrien still thought she was absolutely beautiful at the corner of her lips. She complained about that picture being his lockscreen but Adrien thought it was the absolute best picture of her.

The pianist pulled himself out of his thoughts and dialed his best friend’s number. The DJ picked up on the first ring. “Adrien!”

“H-hey, Nino…” He mumbled a bit dejectedly and stared at the black and white keys in front of him. “Can we talk?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to call! Is Marinette alright? She called Alya crying a couple of days ago crying and Alya was on the first flight out to the Netherlands.” 

Adrien felt his heart sink. “R-really? She was crying?” Was that his fault?

“Dude! How could you be such a douche?! I know social interactions isn’t really your thing, but playing Marinette like that when you’re gonna leave? Not cool! There are guys back here at home who would gladly kick your ass for hurting her. I’m probably in that boat.”

“I-I...I don’t know. I...Nino I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Adrien stammered.

“Dude c’mon don’t play stupid with me. You’re totally leaving to the LSO and leaving Marinette behind! Poor girl’s heart couldn’t handle it, so she tried to distance herself, for both of your sakes.”

Adrien slowly pieced together the puzzle. Marinette must have read his acceptance email to the London Symphony Orchestra, explaining why it had been read when Adrien hadn’t remembered opening it. And that explained why she freaked out. That’s why she left in such a rush that day and why she hadn’t talked to him in three weeks. Adrien was such a fool! 

“Bro?” Nino called from the other line. Adrien had fell silent for a couple of minutes.

“I-I-I can’t lose her! But I also can’t give up this opportunity with the London Symphony. It’s what I’ve worked for. For my mother.” Adrien’s hand shook as he spoke, tearing up slightly. Shit, he hated being this weak.

“Bro. Your mom has waited for 11 years! She can wait a lil’ longer! Marinette? Marinette is treasure and any man would be blessed to have her. Make sure that man is you.”

“But my mother…” Adrien whimpered, a bit unsure now that Nino’s words began to make sense. 

“Dude, with all due respect...fuck your mom!” Adrien winced slightly at the harshness of Nino’s words, who only sighed into the receiver. “I get it man. I really do. I love my mom too, and I would do anything to get her back in your shoes...but Marinette needs you more. Don’t lose Marinette because you can’t pull your head outta your ass. Think of what your mother would say if she found out you lost the love of your life to look for her. She would be upset, I bet.” 

Adrien swallowed thickly. Nino made perfect sense. 

“Marinette needs healing. And ya regret it if you watch some other bozo give it to her.” Nino finished.

Adrien was silent for a heartbeat. And then two. “You’re...right.” He finally admitted and Adrien huffed. “I need to man up and tell her how I feel. I need to set things straight!”

“How?” inquired Nino.

“I….don’t know how. But I’ll do it somehow.” Adrien spoke confidently. 

Adrien could practically hear the smile in Nino’s voice, “Go get ‘er, tiger.”

“Nino….thank you. For figuratively slapping me upside the head and setting me straight.” Adrien said.

“What are best bros for?” Nino laughed before he hung up.

Adrien didn’t hesitate in calling Marinette. He checked the time. It was 3:50. And on a sunday, Marinette was bound to be at home, not busy. He quickly called her through speed-dial and was surprised by three tones and an automated voice.

“ _We’re sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer is in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again._ " 

The line went dead and Adrien’s breathe hitched. What? That was impossible.

He tried to call her again two separate times only to receive the same disconnected message. Panicking now, Adrien tried to call Ms. Martha’s office, only to be told that she was no longer in office. Adrien felt panic bubbling in his throat as he threw on a sweater and shoes before he ran all the way to Marinette’s apartment in Stadseel-West. He banged on the door and was met with silence from the other side. Where was she?!

Adrien’s last resort was Mrs. Van Baas’s bakery. He took off running once more, not caring if people looked at him as if he had lost his mind, because he nearly did. He rounded a corner a couple of streets down and burst into the shop of the tiny bakery, heaving as he did. Thankfully, it had been a slow day, so no one had been in there to see Adrien Agreste burn in like some sort of movie character, panting from his long run.

“Mrs. Van Baas! Where is Marinette? I looked all over for her but I haven’t found her yet. Her apartment is empty and she disconnected her phone.” Adrien word-vomitted.

The plump baker was drying her hands on her apron as she tucked a piece of grey hair behind her ear, “ _Lieve_ , Marinette has returned to Paris. She took up a job as Martha Bali’s assistant designer.” She spoke in French, making Adrien realize that his panic forced him to revert back to his native tounge.

Adrien felt his heart sink to his knees. “N-no. That’s not true. She couldn’t have.” Adrien did the best to calm his panicking breathe as Mrs. Van Baas nodded solemnly.

“I could hardly believe it either. I held Marinette dear to my heart. But she was meant for this, you know. If you won’t take my word for it, check Bali’s social media.” said the elderly woman.

And Adrien did just that. He pulled out his phone and checked Martha Bali’s instagram. The latest picture was a selfie posted that featured Marinette and a girl, whom Adrien recognized as Alya. The trio sat in the back of Ms. Martha’s Rolls Royce with a caption reading **“ _Can’t wait to move into our new HQ! Meet Marinette! My new assistant designer! <3 #ParisHereWeCome #FashionDesigner #Fashion #BeautifulGirls_” **

Adrien’s heart sank. The picture was posted 35 minutes ago. Adrien was 35 minutes behind the three women. But he was determined to tell Marinette how he felt. He looked up at Mrs. Van Baas, “Do you have a car?” He asked. “If I mess it up, I’ll buy you a new one!”

Mrs. Van Bass shook her head, “I only have my delivery van but…” She tapped her chin. “No. You’ll never make it in time.”

“What?” Adrien begged. 

“Well. I have a bicycle. But it would be at least a 45 minute bike ride. Her flight leaves as soon as possible. But...if you want to try.” Mrs. Van Baas eyes sparkled.

Adrien was full of determination. “I’ll take it. Anything for Marinette.”

The baker smiled a wistful smile, “Follow me, _lieve_. You better leave as soon as possibe.  
_____________

Marinette dragged her luggage behind her in one hand and carried Tikki’s carrier in the other as she walked up the runway to Ms. Martha’s jet. Their car had dropped them off right on the runway, and Marinette was told to only pack for two weeks. The rest, Marinette had learned, would be shipped to her. Alya only had her small duffle bag and was bouncing around in excitement. “This is _so_ cool, Mari! A private jet! How fancy! I hear these fly faster than commercial jets. It’ll be less than an hour before we’re back in Paris! Marinette how awesome!” Alya giggled.

Marinette could only nod at her best friend’s comments. The Parisian kept turning around, half-expecting Adrien to drive up the runway on his motorcycle, race towards her and embrace her in his arms. The two would kiss and they would live in Amsterdam happily together. Marinette swallowed thickly and shook her head. That was for fairytales. Adrien wasn’t going to run to her like some Prince Charming with a glass-slipper in hand. Life just didn’t work that way.

So, she took the airport attendant’s helping hand as she stepped up onto the ladder and climbed up to the plane. She took a final glance back and bid Amsterdam farewell. She said farewell to a year of adventures. She bid farewell to Mrs. Van Baas and her bakery. She bid farewell to the bicycle scene of Amsterdam, to the canals, to Milan, Luuk and all other performers of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. 

She bid farewell to Adrien, who still had her heart in his hands. 

She sat on one of the leather seats of the jet, staring out the window. She watched storm clouds roll over Amsterdam, dampening the city with a thick blanket of grey. She tried to mask a frown as she looked down at her hands, holding them to stop them from shaking.

What a gloomy sunday it was indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only way to go now is up.
> 
> ALSO 
> 
> Important Announcemnt
> 
> Both of my beta-readers just gave up on me, so I am now looking for beta-readers AKA proof-readers to beta-read my chapters! If you are interested, leave a comment or message me.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes they are logically speaking French and Dutch but I'm writing this in English.
> 
> I don't know how long this will be! I'm just writing as I go!
> 
> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!
> 
> (I lowkey got inspiration for this story when I went to get Chinese Food and I kept sneezing, so a non-English speaking worker had to ask her co-worker how to say bless you like, sixty times. It was cute and my little creative mind went from there. Enjoy!)


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